Sacred Bonds
by Hedwig1
Summary: Harry continues on two quests...Discover the mysteries of Camelot with Harry in the past as he continues to prepare for the final battle in the present.
1. AUTHOR

Summary: Hermione is having a baby, Ron is a POW and Harry is...missing. An account of the 2nd great wizarding war, of battles still to be won, and the love of a young bookworm for the man, the cause, the friends and the life she was forced to abandon.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters, their world or their toys. I do however, own Hermione's dress. Don't you think it sounds pretty?

**Author's Note for Newcomers: **This story was started PRIOR to the release of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. Consequently, some of the key characters, storylines, accounts of deaths, events etc. will be different. Rather than go back and re-work the entire thing so that it will fit with the current HP cannon, I have decided to complete this story as it was originally conceived.

That being said, you will actually find MOST of what is here entirely plausible within the current Harry Potter lore. Set three years in the future, it begins _in medias res_ so it leaves much up to interpretation. But it is most definitely now, post HBP, a sort of AU fic. Hope you enjoy. Thanks!


	2. Bittersweet Thoughts

Summary:

There are no muggles in foxholes. An account of the 2nd great wizarding war, of battles still to be won, and the love of a young bookworm for the man, the cause, the friends and the life she was forced to abandon.

Disclaimer:

I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters, their world or their toys. I do however, own Hermione's dress. Don't you think it sounds pretty?

Sacred Bonds

By Rebecca

Bittersweet thoughts

A thought occurred to her, as she sat rocking methodically in her new handcrafted oak rocker. She mulled it over in her head as she did most thoughts, until it became a true realization. _This is how Lily Potter must have felt._

Rocking was not the therapeutic hobby for Hermione Granger that it was for muggles and elderly witches. It was a nervous habit. Something physical that she could focus on while she sat, night after night staring out into the blackness through the open window. A calm breeze that no longer belonged in her world gently fluttered the curtains of the small hut, hidden deep within the sheltering branches of the Forbidden Forest. It was ironic how much the forest had frightened her as a child. It was one of just a few places of peace and refuge left.

When the only sounds of night she heard were the eerie hoots of the midnight owls and the anxious twitching of the Whomping Willow's remains, it was hard to believe that the war was less than a hundred miles away. And since the fall of the Azkaban border, it was only a matter of time before the D.A. cornered Voldemort's army at Dovetown. Dovetown...that's where she _wanted _to be right now. That's where she _should_ be. Fighting with the D.A. Taking down Voldemort. For three years, she'd been an instrumental member of the D.A. An advanced NEWT level witch who had single-handedly wiped out Bellatrix Lestrange's fortress just outside Surrey.

But it had been some time now since Hermione had been armed and active. For a while, she stayed at Hogwarts, working with Professors McGonagall and Lupin, mapping out new spells and forging replacement wands. But soon she couldn't even do that. All she could do was wait. Sit, and rock, and wait until the child growing within her was ready to be born. Wait until she could leave this necessary prison, protected with the most powerful of charms.

She checked her watch. 9:24. It seemed three hours ago, it had been 9:22. A single tear escaped down her cheek as her sigh joined the cool night air. But she would cry no more. She would be strong. Strong for her baby. She would bear a son. Of this she was almost sure. And when that happened, she would bind her son to the same spell that now kept her safe and rejoin the Order...so she could find out if his father was even still alive.

It wasn't supposed to happen this way. In fact, she had been very careful all along, ever since they had married towards the beginning of the war. They'd promised each other, that very night, they would not bring a child into a world where so much was already at stake outside the protective walls of Hogwarts. They'd promised...on their last night of peace, they'd promised...

_They did it. They made it. They'd won...Well, not really. The war had barely begun. In actuality, all they'd really managed to do in the grand scheme of things was keep Hogwarts out of enemy territory. The entirety of the wizarding kingdom outside of the magnificent castle walls was fragmented, divided, totaled. Scattered pockets of OTP members remained hidden throughout the towns and lands that the Death Eaters had swiftly conquered. For all their preparedness, the beginning of the end still dealt a mighty blow for the side of good in the world. Several members already compromised or captured, defeating evil from the inside out was the only option there ever was. _

_But for one blissful moment, one glorious evening, none of that mattered to Ronald Weasley. Tonight, he could've taken down Voldemort himself. Tonight...he'd married Hermione. Hermione Granger had been quite the thorn in his side for as long as he'd known her. An insufferable know-it-all with an alarming distaste for the British Quidditch League and an obsession for discipline and homework. Harry Potter had been the only reason they'd stayed friends to begin with. His best mate, and her confidant in everything that mattered, if not for Harry, Ron would've just continued to tease her from afar and make jokes at her expense._

_Well...actually, he STILL did that...she did after all drive him mad. But it was a flame of madness she'd lit inside him. A subtle spark of wit, beauty and passion coiled beneath the facade of studies and rules. A spark that only he could release. And right now, it packed more power than any wand or wizard ever could. He _loved _Hermione...love...Dumbledore was right. It was the only weapon Voldemort didn't have. And tonight more than any other, Ron finally knew...finally understood that it was the only thing that would defeat him._

_"What are you thinking about?" _

_Ron whipped around, but had to maintain his grip on the window frame. So beautiful...so beautiful. She still wore robes of white satin, concocted especially for her by his mother. In fact, it was Molly Weasley who had insisted on a traditional wedding to begin with. The couple had been perfectly content to marry in the Headmaster's chambers in their school robes, but she was relentless...and after what she'd already been through...well, no one seemed inclined to argue. And now, Ron thanked the stars that he hadn't. _

_It was a bit grand for Hermione. Long sleeves of soft chiffon that graced the stone floors, low neckline...very low neckline. Flecks of gold and silver embroidered in beautiful patterns of stars and tiny hourglasses along the seams. He caught his breath. "You," he managed to answer her question. Her face went scarlet. She was a bit timid tonight. So nervous it was almost heartbreaking. But old habits made it impossible for him not to laugh inside. Hermione? At a loss for words? Harry would never believe it...he looked down..._Harry.

_"You know he would've been there today if he could," she whispered. He stared at her in disbelief as he watched her approach. A calm breeze fluttered the hem of her robes, now nearly orange reflecting the radiance of the setting sun above the lake. _

_"How did you know?" He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her the rest of the way, instantly comforted at her touch as she settled into his warmth. _

_"Because it's the only part of today that could make you frown." He smiled and he felt something break loose inside. He tilted her chin up and lifted her tiny form into a deep kiss that made even thoughts of Harry dim. When he pulled away, he looked back towards the enchanted lake. The sun now asleep beneath the horizon leaving a brilliant swirl of pinks and purples in the evening sky. He remembered it seeming odd that they were spending their wedding night in the old dormitories of Hogwarts. That their ceremony took place in the great dining hall. That they'd been married by none other than Mad-Eye Moody. But as he felt his new wife relax against his chest, and the fire in the common room fireplace cackled and cracked a modest harmony to the waves of the lake outside, he couldn't imagine being anywhere else. _

_They didn't speak again about Harry. It was one of many understandings they shared. Both knew that if they dwelled too much on his absence, it would be the end of the only truly wonderful night they would have for a very long time. Instead, he wordlessly beckoned her upstairs. The dorm room had been changed from its previous arrangement for students. McGonagall had allowed a few liberties there. And after all...why not. Hogwarts was no longer a school. It _was_ a bit odd that the halls still forbade Ron or any other male from entering the girl's side. _Those _age-old charms it seemed, were born of magic even Dumbledore couldn't break. But it somehow fit, just like every other part of today, that they were headed for Ron's old room. It's where he'd first kissed her. Proposed to her. Loved her._

_She was shaking a bit, as all blushing brides do. And he squeezed her hand tight as they climbed the round stairwell to the room. The 5 four-posters had been replaced by a modest double bed along the far wall, and the velvet red and gold curtains were drawn, emphasizing the soft glow of a dozen or so candles set atop the small breakfast table and desk. As they walked further into the room, Ron noticed that the flames danced on top of the wicks in various shapes and patterns. He chuckled when his eyes fixed on shape that looked particularly like Snuffles. He'd be sure to blow that one out soon. He sat down on the bed, gripping the bedpost more out of habit now than anything else. But the inner struggle between passion and innocence that showed so plainly across her face was leaving him quite unhinged. Slowly, he pulled her down next to him and kissed her again, this time gentler, more tender. She deserved no less. She pulled away, but left her hand upon his cheek, her eyes blurring a bit and whispered his name. _

_He grasped her hand and held it to his heart. "Are you ok?"_

_She nodded, but there was something else there. Something beyond a young woman's normal anxiety. He squeezed her hand. "What is it?"_

_She looked down at her hand mingling with his and hesitated. So much about today had been absolutely perfect. She was afraid to ruin it by being stupid. It was such an obvious concern, such a given that she knew it went without saying. But she had to. Besides, it was Ron. He'd understand. _

_"Ron?" she said in a smaller voice than she'd intended. She cleared her throat and fought with herself to find that spunky girl of 11 who had no qualms about correcting him in front of the entire Beginner's Charms class...and this was far more important than Wingardium Leviosa! _

_"What?" he asked, stroking his thumb along the backs of her hands, easing the tension as only he could. _

_"We can't have a baby."_

_Ron's hands froze, as did his gaze as he looked up, bewildered. But Hermione had her eyes locked with hers and they begged to be understood. And all at once, they were._

_"I know," he said softly._

_"I mean...not for a long time...not until-"_

_He stopped her with a quick kiss, "I know." And he pulled her into a fierce hug, anger and hate for Voldemort flowing through him as even the happiest of nights could not escape the cruel and artful touch of his presence in the world, of what lay ahead and all that could never be until he was gone. Hermione seemed to sense this in his arms and she pulled away._

_"I love you," she whispered. He relaxed again._

_"I love you too." The two sat for a long while, just holding each other after that, before dusk darkened to twilight, and passion unearthed magic older than Merlin himself. _

It was the memory he'd always chosen to fight off dementors and it's the moment he chose now as he struggled to fight the most painful of all unmentionable curses. Goyle's wand cut through the blackness of his cell as he writhed and twitched in pain. But he would not scream. He wouldn't give them that pleasure. He'd be strong. As strong as he had to be...in the hopes that one day, he could return to her.


	3. Echoes

Summary:

There are no muggles in foxholes. An account of the 2nd great wizarding war, of battles still to be won, and the love of a young bookworm for the man, the cause, the friends and the life she was forced to abandon.

Disclaimer:

I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters, their world or their toys. But that would be cool if I didn't wouldn't it?

Echoes

_"I'm not your guy 'Mione, I'm just-I'm just not-"_

_"Neville, who better to see me through this than you? A medi-wiard?"_

_"-In training," he emphasized quickly. _

_But Hermione refused to recognize the distinction. And why should she? Neville Longbottom had nursed several OTP members to good health in the past 3 years. He was hands down the most brilliant of wizards when it came to healing spells and herbal potions. And as far as his loyalty to the Order and the D.A?…well, Harry Potter himself had come to trust Neville with his own life on several occasions. _

_Still, despite how much he'd grown, learned, mastered; despite having been largely responsible for taking down Crabbe's entire wing last year, the man that stood before her now, reminded her of a boy who, long ago, asked her to a ball. "Neville-"_

_"Suppose something goes wrong? Suppose I…suppose I mess it up?"_

_"You won't-"_

_"How do you know?"_

_"Because-" Hermione sighed, pinching the ridge of her nose as she winced in pain. The baby had started kicking weeks ago. Far earlier than her mother had warned her to expect. And when Molly found out, she'd pleaded for her to go into hiding as soon as possible. 'I will not have the next generation of Weasley born in the middle of a battlefield' she'd said. And although it mildly offended Hermione that her mother-in-law would think her stupid enough to be fighting Voldemort in her final trimester, the concern and worry forever etched in Mrs. Weasley's face convinced her to begin the search for a Secret Keeper. To her, the choice was obvious. _

_To him...well...it wasn't. She took a breath and placed her hands on his shoulders. "Neville...please," she said quietly. "For Ron's sake as much for mine."_

_Neville looked up, tempted to tell her there was no need to make her case any stronger. Protecting_ her _life was reason enough alone. But her pleading eyes only flooded his heart with memories of a not-so-aged past. "I can't do it again, 'Mione. I can't be responsible-"_

_"Shh," she whispered, touching his cheek. "This is different. It's just a charm...A simple charm. All I'm asking for is your silence."_

_Neville closed his eyes, feeling through her hand all the trust she was ready to place in him. He knew this was different. Massively different. But it didn't change the fact that what happened to Ginny... had happened on _his _watch. And if Hermione held a similar fate under his care, it would destroy him._

_Then again...this wasn't about him._

_And just as Hermione was struggling with Ron's voice inside her head, telling her to 'just give the ninny a good kick in the arse,' Neville managed a smile. "All right then," he said. "But I'm warning you, I failed charms."_

_ "You failed _potions._" She laughed._

_ "I failed everything."_

_Without much further delay, they set off in the castle in search of Professor McGonagall. And that night, a sacred charm bound her memory to Neville's mind and Hermione was hidden from the world._

It occurred to Neville, as his patient writhed and screamed in agony, that he'd rarely seen this particular wizard without that sardonic grin on his face... or without his twin brother. Fred Weasley was experiencing the same symptoms of a man under the Cruciatus Curse. But ever since Voldemort had been leaked information early on that the OTP finally had a means to block it, the Death Eaters had concocted a hybrid of unmentionables with the physics of the wizard's time turner. Certain members of the D.A. had dubbed it the _Continuum Curse _because it in effect takes the curse out of real time and casts it after a 7 minute delay. Thus a wizard can be struck with the Cruciatus and not even know it until long after the enemy has moved onto other targets. And to make matters worse, because of the time distortion, its effects lasted longer...much longer.

Fortunately, one could only use the Continuum sparingly as it required much more wand and mind power than a straightforward spell. Still, it had become a tactic of the Death Eaters to sacrifice three or four of their less powerful wizards or witches in battle to cast the Continuum on their most threatening foes. During the latest engagement at Stoatshead, Fred had been marked as just such a threat and right as he was about to deal a final blow to Marcus Flint, Fred doubled over in excruciating pain and Flint had escaped.

"Hold still you idiot!" Neville ordered him, hoping to at least stimulate a classic Fred & George Weasley retort. The potion he'd invented to ease such pain only worked if ingested and Fred, arguably one of the more hot-tempered members of the D.A, barely stayed on the table.

Neville threw his hands up in defeat and nodded to Lavender. "Do it."

Lavender raised her wand, bearing the sad look of a witch who'd done this too many times. _"Immobilis!" _she said and Fred's body went rigid. Nothing of the curse seemed to remain except the sheer horror and agony now frozen in his eyes.

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. It wasn't Neville's most preferred method of treating the Continuum, stunning the victim motionless so the curse had fewer places to go. He reached down to the table and covered Fred's eyes with his hands, easing the lids shut. The stun in no way lessened the pain. Fred was still unmercifully conscious. But at least the Immobilis charm would move the curse through his system faster.

He turned to Lavender. "Wait for signs that the stunning spell is wearing off. Then lift it completely and administer the potion."

Lavender Brown, also a veteran D.A. member, nodded in expectation, having been through this with far too many friends. As Neville left the hospital wing, she was absently running her fingers through Fred's hair, a mere illusion of comfort.

"Will he be all right?"

Neville stopped just outside the door, met immediately as he'd anticipated by Katie Bell, a former classmate, wicked Quidditch player, and Fred's..._close_ friend. Her bandaged arms wrapped tight around her middle, as if she were cold.

He touched her shoulder, "Eventually," he said and continued past her, too tired to relive the details. Whatever questions she had, Lavender could answer—

"He- - he saved my life," she said behind him, her voice quivering. Neville stopped. "Just before he—before he f-ff-"

"Katie," he whispered, "I promise. He'll be fine." The old chaser's lip trembled and tears that begged to be spilled welled up in her eyes. Neville nodded back to the door. "Go on. Talk to him," he urged, a bit uncomfortable nowadays in the presence of such emotion. "It'll help," he lied. She nodded just as Lavender came to lead her inside.

He forgot where he'd been headed. Inside he could hear Katie's quiet sobs and his heart sank through the floor. _Too long..._he thought..._too long. _He wandered the halls as the enormity of it all came crashing down. Everyone they'd already lost. People still missing. The Dark Lord still at bay. And there hadn't been any word from the Sentinels since they'd gone into hiding.

Reports periodically came in from the front lines. _We're winning! We've got him cornered! Another victory for Hogsmeade!_ But hallways that once filled Neville's senses with the sweet aromas of mince pies, pumpkin juice and chocolate frogs, now reeked of dread and death. And walls that echoed laughter, chants, and choruses of _Weasley is our King!_ now only amplified the dull chimes of a lonely clock tower, ticking away the torturous hours, days, years of a war that wouldn't end.

Eventually his meandering led him to the teacher's lounge where dinner had already been sent up through the kitchens. Much to Hermione's displeasure, most of the house elves seemed perfectly content to remain at Hogwarts and continue the menial duties of cook, clean and serve.

The staff members that still remained at Hogwarts had opened up the lounge long ago to colleagues they no longer considered students. Besides...if the staff of their meager operation ever ate in the dining hall, the Great place just seemed to mock them. As it was, tonight he was met with a spread of smoked sausages, potatoes, and an assortment of fruit. Professors McGonagall and Sprout were already in the corner, tucking in and examining a wand-projected image of the Order's new borders. The grounds glowed the color of parchment while tiny gold spheres marked key territories. Some were connected by long gold thread. Others were still black. It was a brilliant spell that Hermione helped McGonagall put together the few weeks she'd spent here before her second trimester. It wasn't _just_ a 3-dimensional projection of the whole of Europe and the location of various wings, bases and hideaways. The spell, an evolution of the old Marauder's Map, was linked to the wands of 5 stationary witches and wizards at select locations that when connected, outlined the war's entire perimeter. So their knowledge of victory and defeat was not limited to reports that managed to make it back to base. Instead, they could actually monitor the war in real time through the spell.

At the moment, McGonagall and Sprout were hovered over a particular point just north of Stoatshead. A gold thread was weaving itself from Stoatshead's sphere all the way back to Hogsmeade. "Seems the D.A. got the job done after all, Minerva."

"Yes, it does appear that way," McGonagall agreed, her voice not nearly as eager or optimistic as it once had been.

"And not many casualties," Sprout added.

"I'm not sure Katie would agree," Neville muttered. The teachers turned around to find Neville picking watermelon seeds out of his fruit. It was odd, really. He didn't even like watermelon. But it used to give Madame Pomphrey illusion that he actually had an appetite. Old habits died hard.

McGonagall leaned back into her chair, "How is he?"

"Continuum," Neville answered. The professor closed her eyes. "He'll recover though. Lavender's working on it."

"Isn't there any way of getting word to George?" Sprout asked uselessly.

"You know there isn't," McGonagall's eyes narrowed. "And besides, what would we say?" She turned back to Neville. "What about Miss Bell?"

"A few burns. Apparently..." Neville trailed off remembering the tears in her eyes. "She just barely missed the Killing curse. Fred pushed her out of the way."

No one said much after that, their silence a sort of respect for the victim's heroism. Neville finished what he could eat of his dinner and grabbed his cloak.

It wasn't really necessary for the Secret Keeper to visit the ones he protected. As long as he kept quiet and acted ignorant, it was actually safer to keep as far from those he sought to hide as possible. But visiting Hermione was the only thing left for Neville Longbottom to look forward to.


	4. Torture

Summary:

There are no muggles in foxholes. An account of the 2nd great wizarding war, of battles still to be won, and the love of a young bookworm for the man, the cause, the friends and the life she was forced to abandon.

Disclaimer:

I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters, their world or their toys. But I really think JKR might like my work anyway!

Sacred Bonds

By Rebecca

Torture

Ron no longer remembered what it was like to stand in the hallways and jeer at Goyle from afar. Goons of Draco Malfoy's from the very beginning, he and Crabbe both made a rather easy transition from the role of school bully to pure villain. And contrary to what the Order had hoped, Malfoy's death only seemed to fan the flames of evil inside, transforming him into one of the deadliest members of Voldemort's regime.

"Sooner or later, I will break you Weasel. You will tell me where Potter is and then you will tell me what he's planning!" Red sparks shot out from his wand, pinning Ron to the cold stone floor.

"Go to hell," he spat, blood pouring from his nose. The effects of the Cruciatus were largely mental. A victim rarely showed physical signs of pain. Of course only a handful of wizards in history had ever been subjected to it as long and as often as Ron had. For his entire imprisonment, Goyle took great pleasure in bringing Ron to near death, only to give him time to recuperate before he began again.

"Hogwarts first, I think," Goyle's maniacal laugh answered above him. "Think about it Weasel," he lowered his wand and Ron collapsed, hating himself for the instant relief and near gratitude he felt as Goyle removed the curse. "You and I are quite alike."

"I beg to differ," Ron coughed, pushing himself up on all fours. _If I can just stand…just…stand…_

"Oh, trust me. We are. Lived our entire lives in shadow. You in Potter's…me in Malfoy's," he paused for a solemn moment, a tribute to a man he'd once believed to be the next Dark Lord (probably because that's what Malfoy had always _told_ him) "But look at me now Weasley!" he proclaimed, waving his cloak in a theatrical swooping gesture that suggested the man thought himself a vampire. _Just stand…_Ron screamed inside his head, clutching tight to his stomach to keep from gagging. _Stand!_

Goyle rarely went a day of their routine torture sessions without taking a moment to revel in his own personal glory. And he was still thick enough to believe Ron was actually listening to any of it. Little did he know, or even think to guess, that while he chanted away his victories, victims and credentials with all the pomp and circumstance of a Greek chorus, Ron had memorized every stone, every brick, every crook and cranny in the cell. He knew the door was a full 15 feet from the table and chair that stood in the middle of the room, a joke of décor really. Ron never stayed in that chair very long. He also knew that it wasn't the door Goyle used. There was some sort of passageway. A false wall? A shift in the stones? He wasn't quite sure, but he knew for a fact that it was his best chance for escape. If he could only…just…_STAND!_

"Oh no," Goyle smiled, his reflexes clearly improved from his days as Malfoy's henchman. "Down boy, _Crucio!_" Ron collapsed, mere seconds away from stealing Goyle's wand…centimeters from freedom.

His deafening scream died as it hit the walls of the interrogation room. _Hermione…_he thought…his _only_ thought…

"Tell me, traitor," his captor growled, his fat face no longer etched with pleasure, but pulsing with pure evil. "Where is Harry Potter?"

_Hermione…Hermione!_

"Just tell me and you can go!" Goyle's wand sputtered red.

As long as he focused. As long as he kept her in his mind, all knowledge of Harry, The Order, the D.A, the Sentinels. Everything was safe_ …Hermione…safe…_

Goyle sighed, lowering his wand, once again halting the curse. He could tell that all possible breaking points had come and gone. He wouldn't get anything out of Ron Weasley tonight. _Eventually, though…_he told himself. Convinced he could break him. He just needed more time. Goyle got on his knees, down to Ron's level and smiled. "Come on Red," he whispered near his ear, "It's over for today. You can say it now."

_No…_Ron thought. _Not again…not this time._

"You know you want to," he said, slowly tracing the tip of his wand along the back of Ron's neck. Ron twitched, shrugging off the tickle of Goyle's 12-inch vulture-feather redwood. He would fight it. It wasn't over yet…despite what Goyle soothed. _It's still not over. _Ron searched for something to say. Something to arm himself with. And he turned with the only weapon he had left.

"Hey Goyle," he rasped, looking over his shoulder, hands firmly planted to the floor. "You learn all those big words by yourself? Or did Malfoy have to scribble 'em down for you before he conked out!"

_"Crucio!"_ Goyle yelled, and Ron felt his fury. The burn of the wand so close to him. Too close to him. "Scream Weasel! Say it!"

_No!..._Ron fought…_not over…never over!_

He seared the tip of his wand to bare skin, "Scream for her Ron!"

"HERMIONE!" Ron shouted...and immediately, Goyle stopped. Ron punched his fist into the ground, agony colliding with elation inside. He relished the sound of her name. The way his lips moved when he said it. A name that charged his soul as it did the very air around him…a name Gregory Goyle wasn't fit to hear.

"Nice, Red," Goyle chuckled, holstering his wand. "Same time and place tomorrow then?" He walked passed him, kicking one of Ron's arms out from under him. Ron hit the floor hard, but didn't struggle to get up this time. Goyle tapped on the door and a dark cloaked figure came to take him away.

Ron never remembered being thrown back in his cell at this point. He never took notice of the winding corridor he was dragged through or of the hands that dragged him. He'd gathered enough new information today. His only memory was of Hermione. Always Hermione...until a sunless dawn brought another day.

...

"Anything?" Hermione asked hopefully, not even troubling herself with the proper greetings.

Neville frowned, "No...not yet." He looked down, determined to avoid the sad eyes of a lonely wife and mother. If he could just get through this part. If they could just...skip this part. "We're still looking, 'Mione. Everyone is looking."

She nodded, and made an attempt at a smile. "Come in Neville. Good to see you."

"You too," he said and stepped inside the hut. It was a modest home. The exterior looked a might like Hagrid's old lodgings actually, as he often suspected Hermione arranged on purpose. And why not? If you're going to be living in the Forbidden Forrest, you might as well model your space after the only man crazy enough to do it. It was one great room, much like the dormitories at Hogwarts in that respect. A double bed...the same double bed...stood along one curve of the hut, charmed to align its headboard to the rounded walls. Next to the bed stood a small green-speckled washstand, a pile of red and gold-yellow towels folded neatly beside it. Neville recognized them immediately. One of many packages from Mrs. Weasley he'd brought her early on. _'The comforts of home,' _she'd said bravely. On the other side of the bed, her rocking chair, gently teetering back and forth as it had just been vacated...which meant that she'd been right where Neville left her the last time. And then of course, the bookshelf...towering, winding, overflowing with generous volumes and tomes, Hermione's first and only love next to Ron. It and the rocking chair were also sent to her, via Neville, not long after her confinement. They were gifts from Bill and Charlie who decided while they struggled to find their brother, to at least bring a little joy to his wife. The shelves were already charmed, by the expert William Weasley himself, to expand as needed. But Hermione had already outgrown the charm and dozens of books lay strewn about the cabin, half-open, earmarked, torn. Neville nearly tripped over one as he entered and bent down to retrieve it. "Magical Maps to the Missing?" he said.

She drew back the woven curtain that separated the kitchen from the rest of the room and filled a kettle for tea. "Mostly rubbish," she mused more to herself than to Neville, "but it had a few good ideas."

He nodded and tossed it back on the rug, trying to remember when he'd brought her that one. "How are you feeling?"

She sighed. "Ok," she said, absently touching her middle. She had grown quite large now. Neville was sure she had only a couple months to go. "He's definitely a Quidditch player," she winced and continued with the tea.

Neville sat down at the little breakfast table and smiled. "Still convinced it's a boy?"

She turned around and magicked two cups and saucers over to him. "There's no question. I've already done the proper spell."

As he plucked the cups from the air and set them down, he didn't bother mentioning again that not even old wives' tale spells can be 100% accurate. And he knew for a fact that Molly was personally hoping for a little Weasley witch. He also knew that there were very few things Hermione disliked more than being wrong.

"Thought of a name?" he asked, trying to keep her smiling. It was, however, the wrong question to ask.

"Arthur," she said quietly. Neville became very preoccupied with his tea. "How's professor McGonagall?"

"Fair," he answered with a slurp. "She and Sprout were using that brilliant map of yours when I left."

"Oh, we all helped make it."

Neville rolled his eyes, "yeah sure."

"And Lavender?"

"Pining for Dean. Treating patients seems to help." He didn't bother troubling her with news of Fred. Concern for one redheaded Weasley was quite enough for an expecting witch.

Hermione sighed. "Yes. Being _useful_ does have its rewards."

He gave her a stern look, "Hermione?"

"I know..." she trailed off, setting her hand once again upon her belly. "I know."

Neville searched for something to say, feeling very foolish that he hadn't yet been able to steer the conversation elsewhere.

"Mione," he said softly as he reached clumsily across the table, fumbling for her hand. Neville had never been very good at this sort of thing, but he knew he was all she had right now. "We...we _will_ find him."

She looked down at his hand covering hers and sniffled, thinking of another hand that once held her so safe. "It's...it's been so long..."

He gave an uncomfortable sort of chuckle. "Since when has that ever stopped Ron?"

She shrugged, "true." It had worked. He saw it in her eyes. A memory...he'd sparked a happy memory. And she smiled. "He always _has_ been a little stupid...and a little stubborn."

At that, Neville whisked his hand away and waved his arms wildly in the air. "A LOT stubborn. You should've seen him pounding the stuffing out of his pillows whenever someone in the tower mentioned Victor Krum."

She blushed a bit, but mostly laughed, "Ok...and a LOT stupid."

Neville grinned, remembering days when Victor Krum was just a Quidditch player, and Ron and Hermione were never apart. Neither said much of consequence after that. A few casual reports from the front lines, a few instructions in case she went into early labor. And when Neville eventually retired for the evening, she had dozed off in her rocking chair, book in-hand...dreaming of days when Victor Krum was just a Quidditch player...and she and Ron were never apart.


	5. Thinking of Harry

Summary:

There are no muggles in foxholes. An account of the 2nd great wizarding war, of battles still to be won, and the love of a young bookworm for the man, the cause, the friends and the life she was forced to abandon.

Disclaimer:

I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters, their world or their toys. However, I firmly believe that if I did, I wouldn't have allowed Tom Felton to be cast as Malfoy. The kid is WAY too tall =)

Sacred Bonds

By Rebecca

Thinking of Harry

"Let him go, Cho!" Lupin called down to her from the tower. Cho nodded, releasing the chains with a final tug, and the magnificent animal soared across a hazy sky.

"Extraordinary," she heard Lupin say as he descended the barricade. She was inclined to agree, watching Thunder spread his silk black wings – a span of nearly 6 meters – for the first time in several weeks.

"Good show, Thunder!" she yelled, clapping her hands together. It was a rare moment anymore that one witnessed true freedom, true beauty. And Cho was determined to savor it as long as possible.

Thunder was a thestral. Her thestral. A splendid flying stallion whose eyes glowed pure white but saw with such intensity, such clarity, one hardly needed to navigate. He was a massive beast really, dangerous to those with weak hearts. For thestrals do not distinguish between good and evil, only courage and fear.

To this day it amazed Cho that the thestrals had been right under her nose all through school. They were the invisible navigators of enchanted carriages that once traveled eager young students to places like Hogsmeade and the Hogwarts Express. Thestrals were a well kept secret then, instinctively preserved by the only ones unfortunate enough to possess the sight. For things of true beauty and clarity are only earned with sacrifice. So the only people capable of seeing thestrals, are those who have witnessed death.

Nearly everyone could see them now.

"Well done Cho," the old professor said gently, a soft smile on his face as he too observed the sky.

Cho crossed her arms proudly over her chest. "Thanks." It had been some time since Thunder had been strong enough to grace the clouds. Struck down in the Dovetown battle by a curse surely meant for her, the beast nearly died breaking the fall. Cho too had been badly injured and in fact spent several weeks in the infirmary herself. But members of the Shadow Guard looked after their own and she refused to leave behind a creature she had come to love and trust as much, if not more than any witch or wizard.

Lupin finally made it down the tower and hopped to the ground. "Really Miss Chang, none of us thought he'd fly again."

Cho smiled up at her former professor as she pulled an odd little toy from her pocket. It was a caretaker's whistle, a curious instrument slapped together by Hagrid years ago. At first glance, it seemed to be no more than a handful of sticks and twigs. A closer look revealed an intricate collection of tiny reeds and flutes hinged together with the strong threads of a unicorn's tail. Cho selected one of the whistles and blew. Scent rather than sound came out, like that of spices and wildflowers. The smells seemed at odds with the dull gray atmosphere of Azkaban, but Thunder caught the fragrance immediately and began his descent.

"Chang!" they heard from behind. Cho turned to see another member of the Guard gallop in and dismount from his own thestral.

"Wood," she smiled, tightening her grip ever so slightly on the whistle.

Oliver Wood secured Beowulf to one of their makeshift posts and approached her. "Feeling better then?"

Cho nodded, glancing over her shoulder as Thunder now trotted up behind her, the sound of clip-clopping hoofs upon broken shale music to her ears. "I think he might be ready to rejoin the squad."

Wood reached over her shoulder for the horse, stroking a soft black forehead smooth as silk between the beast's glowing eyes. "I meant you," he said looking down at her.

Her cheeks went instantly warm. "Oh, right," she said, biting her bottom lip. "A few scrapes. Parvati took good care of me."

Lupin cleared his throat, a bit unsure if he was interrupting or coming to the rescue, but he had a feeling judging from his young pupil's face that it was the latter. "Both patients seem to be improving, Oliver. And faster than I would have expected too."

Wood nodded and stepped back, returning to his thestral. "Good," he said, readjusting Beowulf's saddle. "And not a moment too soon professor. They're starting."

Wood mounted the beast as gracefully as he'd always mounted a broom. Once he was situated, Cho relaxed and cleared her throat. It was much easier to relate to him on horseback than it was on the ground. "Do you need an extra watch on the perimeter?"

Wood eyed her cautiously, "You sure you're up for it?"

Cho looked to Lupin who winked with encouragement. She smiled and shoved the caretaker's whistle back in her pocket as the professor handed her the reigns. She reached back and patted Thunder's strong neck. "_We're_ up for it."

Wood gathered his reigns and cocked Beowulf around as he nodded. "Mount up, Chang."

...

_So long, _she thought as the wind whipped through the strands of her short black hair. It seemed an age had passed since she'd felt the clouds sift between her fingers. The sky. Her home. Never unfamiliar. Even surrounded by a couple dozen Death Eaters or a rogue dementor. It was still the only place Cho felt safe.

She followed Wood to her post, taking her place among the patrol that watched over the ruins of Azkaban while several key members of the Order conversed below. "Good boy," she whispered to the creature beneath her. Thunder grunted in reply as he continued to pump his massive wings, keeping them steady and in position should trouble arise.

"Chang!" she heard a voice call, seemingly inside her head. "Hey! Chang's back!" Cho looked across the grounds and spotted Lee Jordan, about 100 meters away, waving his arms wildly as the thestral beneath him writhed to adjust for the sudden movement. Cho touched her wand to her throat _"Amplify!"_ she said and felt the air for the correct path so she could answer. The amplification charm was a rather advanced spell since it required steady concentration to ensure the channel was secure and only members of the Guard could talk over its waves. Not unlike coded muggle radio signals, the charm had one added advantage...stealth. Messages were received telepathically, so a witch or wizard fixed only to listen could in fact be hidden deep inside Voldemort's lair and receive instruction from the outside without risking detection.

"Ready and waiting Lee," she answered in a normal voice, but she could feel the charm carrying her words across the air.

"All right, enough chatter Jordan," came another voice. But it didn't sound from inside her head. Cho twisted around, holding tight to Thunder's reigns. Oliver was still treading above her, Beowulf clearly impatient.

"Wood," she called, muting the charm as she did so. He looked down. "I'm fine, really. Take your post."

He looked up and searched the horizon. "I know you are, Chang. I was surveying the rest of the team."

"Oh," she gulped and whipped around, utterly embarrassed. Thunder shuddered a bit beneath her, sensing insecurity and dismay. "Easy boy," she whispered, shaking it off.

"You sure you've got control of that animal?" Wood asked.

This time she didn't turn. "Yes sir," she said, taking a deep breath and tugging on the reigns, re-establishing authority.

"All right then," he said and turned Beowulf into the wind. Cho watched as he flew off and cursed under her breath. She'd actually thought he was concerned for her. Waiting around like an escort to be sure she was okay. She should have known better by now. Oliver Wood only ever fretted over his team. And that's what she was to him. Part of the team.

For a while, she pushed the whole idea from her mind. Thinking about it too much made Thunder nervous and the poor boy had enough on his own plate right now. But as Cho watched the meeting unfold below and continued to fulfill her duty on the perimeter, Harry Potter popped in her mind...and briefly she wondered if this was what it felt like to play quidditch with Oliver Wood.

...

It was hard during times like these not to think of Harry. In fact, not a day went by that Remus Lupin didn't think about Harry Potter, but especially when members of the Order met to determine their next course of action, deliberate on strategies and plan new methods of attack, his absence was never more obvious. How many of these meetings had he not only attended, but conducted and planned? How many of the very people arguing around him and flying above him had Harry personally appointed while he was still in his seventh year at Hogwarts?

"I don't see any way around it professor," Seamus Finnigan was saying as he stood watching over a projection of what they had dubbed the Granger Map. Using his wand as a pointer, he gestured toward the gold spheres representing Dovetown and Stoatshead. "We've got about 200 of the D.A spread between these two points. About 80 or so more over here and only 36," he gestured to the Shadow Guard keeping their watch above, "covering Azkaban? We need to regroup."

"Mr. Finnigan, do you realize how vulnerable a large scale assembly of the Order of the Phoenix would leave us?" Professor Flitwick shook his finger at Seamus as if he'd just given a wrong answer in class. But the 5' 11'' wizard no longer feared detention.

"I think we can afford a little bravado here," Seamus countered.

"I agree," a deep voice chimed in from the other side of the golden display. It was Kingsley Shaklebolt, one of the very first members of the Order. "They've only been able to hold a handful of territories. I don't think they're planning or even prepared for a full scale attack to retake Azkaban."

"Exactly. And if they _are_ using this time to regroup, we should do it too and we should do it faster."

Lupin cracked a smile. "Do you have a plan Mr. Finnigan? Or perhaps you just want your broom back?"

Several wizards laughed, including Shaklebolt whose hearty guffaw fluctuated the Granger map in his lapse of concentration. Seamus simply rolled his eyes and refused to acknowledge (or admit) the fact that Ernie MacMillan _still_ had his old Firebolt and forgot to give it back when he had joined the troops at Hogsmeade.

"My apologies Seamus," Lupin said stepping forward, withdrawing his wand. "Shameless joke at your expense. And I do agree. An assembly of the Order is precisely what we need to set the final stages of this bloody war into motion." A slight flourish in his wrist altered the map in front of them and the group fell silent as Lupin rotated the display to show a single white sphere, spinning quietly amidst gold and black.

It was a moment before anything was said, as Lupin had expected from his rather bold suggestion. Eventually Professor Flitwick stepped forward, tip toeing on his little box that helped match his height to the others. He spoke to Lupin, but his eyes remained fixed on the sphere. "Do you really think we're that close Remus?"

Lupin stirred the air with his sleeve, erasing the image as quickly as he'd conjured it. "I do."

But even Shaklebolt had doubts. "But we've heard nothing from the Sentinels for ages. We don't even know if he's—"

"We _know_ he's alive, Kingsley. If Voldemort got to him, there'd be no reason for the Sentinels to remain silent."

"And if we're wrong? If we're still not ready. If _he's_ not ready-"

"He will be," Lupin said confidently. He wasn't sure why. Something in the air perhaps? But all at once, he knew the words he spoke were the truth.

"See? Now we're getting somewhere," Seamus clapped his hands together and redrew the Granger Map, preparing to orchestrate the first wide-scale assembly of the Order of the Phoenix in three years. Lupin's small but vital contribution seemed to have ended all opposition and he quietly bowed out of the group.

...

The sun had long since retired, and the thestrals reflected filtered moonlight among the clouds. From the shores of Azkaban, the Shadow Guard seemed more a flock of enchantment out for a stroll rather than the vigilant protectors of his friends below.

The tide hammered against eroding granite and he waited for the wisdom that crashing waves often gave to those tame enough to listen. He closed his eyes and sighed, and thought of another time when something vital was decided between friends...and preparations were made for the end.


	6. There are no muggles in foxholes

Summary:

There are no muggles in foxholes. An account of the 2nd great wizarding war, of battles still to be won, and the love of a young bookworm for the man, the cause, the friends and the life she was forced to abandon.

Disclaimer:

I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters, their world or their toys. But rumor has it, JKR has requested of her fans to keep sending her ideas...hmmmm...I think I've got a few!

Sacred Bonds

By Rebecca

There are no muggles in foxholes

_"Ginny! We need to get out of here! Now!" he screamed. But she still wasn't listening. _

_"No! We can't just leave him!"_

_"EXPELLIARMUS!" Neville shouted at an oncoming death eater. He turned back to Ginny. "Forget him! He's already gone!" He trudged his way back down the slope where the forest met one of its many small clearings, a prime location for an enemy ambush. Ginny hunched pathetically over the body of a fallen friend, uselessly muttering counter curses through bleary eyes. He grabbed her shoulder, hating the pain it caused, and yanked her to her feet. "Ginny, it's the killing curse. He never had a chance."_

_A stunning spell hit dangerously close to her feet and startled her out of mourning. She pulled Michael Corner's wand from his lifeless hands and eased his eyes shut. "G'bye Michael," she sniffled...and then they ran. _

_It had been nearly four days of this. Ducking, hiding, sleeping in caves or ditches. And Michael hadn't been the first to fall. It was a bold campaign. Successful. Concocted by Ginny herself when she'd learned of Neville's discovery. And when word spread that the Order had approved her plan, Ginny had insisted on joining the team...But accomplishing their mission was never going to be the hard part._

_She gathered her cloak and moved quickly over protruding branches and roots. The Forbidden Forest reached farther than any normal wood, so it was the logical place for OTP operatives to hide, especially since most of the world's woodlands that managed to escape deforestation led back to it...if of course, one knew where to look. Ginny did...which is why Neville didn't protest her joining them in the first place. Now...he wished he had._

_"AMPLIFY!" he said and his wand glowed. "Seamus, where are you?" He still had Ginny by the elbow, heart pounding wildly as they searched for cover. The death eaters had learned a few tricks from some unfortunate and unlikely spies in the ranks of the D.A., so it was nearly impossible to tell where the attacks were coming from._

_"Had to double back, mate," Seamus's voice spoke in his head. "Padma took a nasty blow to the head, so we're gonna try to wait it out in Windsor." _

_"Right. We'll see you back at Hogwarts then. Watch your back."_

_"Good luck, mate," Seamus's wand clicked out._

_"You too," he muttered and ducked down with Ginny behind a tree. "We'll never make it back to Hogwarts at this rate."_

_"They're probably using concealment charms same as us," she said, her eyes darting around. "Which means they're shooting blind." Another spell singed the ground right by her sneaker. _

_Neville stared at the charred grass and tensed. "All it takes is one lucky shot."_

_Ginny huddled close to the tree and then spotted something in the distance. She hesitated only a moment before she grabbed Neville's hand and sprung to her feet. "Come on!"_

_Dodging and ducking from invisible foes, the trees grew impossibly thick as she led him deeper into the forest, enveloped by a blanket of leaves that seemed to repel all sunlight. Farther and farther they ran, and Neville noticed that the ground started to slope downward. An odd feeling pulled at his stomach. He'd been here before…or at least, it had been described for him before. It wasn't too much longer before they reached the ridge of a vast hollow completely cleared of trees, and still, light was scarce. _

_Ginny withdrew a caretaker's whistle from her pocket, blowing hard on a large hollowed beetle shell. Neville groaned as smells of mulch and horse manure overpowered them both._

_"Lord, Ginny! What are you-"_

_"Shh," she snapped and yanked him to the ground. The attacks seemed to have stopped, but dull sparks of green and red still flashed between branches in the distance. _

_Neville positioned himself in front of her, prepared to deflect any stray spells that might hinder whatever she was trying to do. Then…the ground beneath him trembled, the leaves around them shivered…and he heard a voice that belonged to Lucifer himself._

_"Who dares disturb us with the coveted smells of waste and decay?" the voice rumbled in the blackness. Neville turned and saw what he already knew was there._

_"Aragog," Ginny said confidently, though Neville hadn't the faintest idea why. It was Hagrid's beast. The giant spider Harry and Ron encountered second year. An arachnid the size of a basilisk and Ginny had…called for it?_

_"We need shelter for the night and protection."_

_The beast clicked its enormously thick black legs together and spat on the ground, millions of eyes rolling around in their sockets, some gazing at the sky, while others bore into his soul. Neville had the feeling that Aragog was…considering Ginny's plea, but its expression looked uncomfortably similar to that of a predator, scaling down its prey. _

_"You ask a rather foolish question, child," Aragog growled. "We neither house nor protect fresh meat."_

_Neville fought back a whimper, but Ginny stood firm, a remarkable transformation from the wallowing girl he'd pried from Michael's body just minutes before. "We are friends of Hagrid's-"_

_"Hagrid is dead!" the monster snapped, his many legs thrusting forward as if preparing to attack._

_"We know…" Ginny said quietly, "And we're sorry. But the ones responsible are those we're running from. If you could just-"_

_A green flash struck the ground near the edge of the hollow and Ginny screeched, toppling forward. Neville lunged for her, but the hem of her cloak ripped in his hand and she tumbled down the slope right at Aragog's open jaws._

"Ginny!" he yelled, stumbling after her, dodging another wand strike from behind. The monster looked ready to feast and Neville raised his wand. "_ERONIA EXI-_-"

_"Neville no!" Ginny twisted around, still in a crumpled heap on the forest floor and held her hand up. _

_"Ginny he's-"_

_"Just wait!"_

_Neville obeyed and held his breath, watching Aragog as he too seemed to be struggling with indecision. The death eater strikes were closing in, each stun more accurate, each attack ripping up more of his earth. Finally, he tore his many eyes away from the tasty witch fate had served him and charged instead up the slope, intent on protecting his land. _

_Neville turned in disbelief, gaping at Ginny who'd never before reminded him of her brother more than she did now. That subtle grin spread across her freckled face, a mirror image of Ron's every time he won a chess match or stopped a quaffle. She dusted herself off and stood up, reaching her hand out to help him. A few yelps sounded in the distance followed by a satisfied growl and Neville smiled. "Well played Gin." He grabbed her hand and hoisted himself off the ground. "Well played."_

_..._

_They covered a bit more ground before dusk, but the sun set so fast, it was gone before the trees thinned enough to see it. Their detour to Aragog's cavern had unfortunately spun them further away from Hogwarts. And since the Forbidden Forest was forever changing, shifting and spinning itself wonky, they both agreed to rest for the night and wait for the right stars to align. _

_They spotted a thicket of willow trees, cascades of sorrowful branches drooping over shallow grass, an illusion of security, really. But at least they'd be safe if it rained. _

_Ginny hastened with the shelter while Neville conjured up a meager feast with the herbs and foliage around him. As he dug up a few more lavender roots and added them to his bubbling cauldron, he smiled watching Ginny magic together a mattress of leaves and soft twigs, thinking how nice it was to be using their wands for something other than curses and kills. _

_"What?" she asked, halted mid-charm, wand in one hand, branch in the other. Neville gulped and wrenched his gaze back to the pot. He'd been staring again._

_"Nothing," he said quietly, hoping the rising steam was enough to explain his reddening cheeks. It wasn't...but Ginny let it go. They ate in silence, the magnitude of all they'd done finally catching up. As Neville picked and poked at his stew, he wondered why it didn't taste like victory. Why he wasn't proud or even relieved by what they'd managed to pull off. It was, after all, no small feat taking out Victor Crabbe's entire wing without even raising a wand._

_During spring term his 6th year, Neville had accepted an apprenticeship with Hippocrates Smethwyck, Head-Healer at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. With glowing recommendations from Professor Sprout and oddly enough, Severus Snape, by his sixth year, Neville managed to learn quite a bit about magical maladies, herbal healing and deadly potions...just in time to put it to use. _

_His real motivation though had been his parents. And ironically enough, the last remaining victims of the First Great War, had provided an answer to the Second. Neville geared most of his training toward finding a way to cure his parents, Frank and Alice Longbottom, eternally suffering from insanity after prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus Curse. And although he ultimately failed in reviving them...his research led him in a much different...and very unsettling direction. _

_Neville sighed as he carefully unhooked a pocket inside his cloak and withdrew a tiny vile. On the whole it was truly unremarkable. It might as well have been some harmless love potion from Madame Buxom's at Hogsmeade. Or a regular old jar of cough syrup. But it wasn't. Not even close. He shuddered at its simplicity, its potency. For at his fingertips, Neville held pure concentrated evil. A potion so deadly, it sickened him to think he'd created it. Essence of mandrake root, and shredded boomslang skin on their own are not dangerous ingredients. Sure they smell pretty bad, but you can only make a handful of tricky potions with them. But in studying his parents' condition day and night for 6 months straight, Neville discovered that most spells, while made mostly of energy, wand-power and will, leave behind very faint traces of themselves in the air at the molecular level. And if enough of those markers are concentrated in one area, they can actually be hexed together and converted to mass... a truly deadly ingredient in any potion. Neville essentially created liquid-Cruciatus...drawn from the very remnants of a curse that forever tortured his parents._

_"We did a good thing you know," Ginny said quietly. Neville jumped and looked up from the stump he sat on. Ginny was stretched out on her side across from him, head propped up by one hand while the other fiddled nervously with the grass. There wasn't much conviction in her voice when she said it, but he appreciated the attempt all the same. Unfortunately, the image of a couple dozen death eaters writhing with the same agony and insanity that tormented his mum and dad hadn't been as satisfying as he'd originally imagined. _

_"Yeah," he muttered, returning the vile to his pocket. There was just a little bit left now, just enough to take out a few more enemies. And there wasn't an endless supply either. But thanks to Neville and his team, the Order had retaken the Windsor Woods and solidified the Hogsmeade border... Still, he felt pretty hollow. "I'm sorry about Michael," he said._

_Ginny didn't answer. There was no point. Nowadays when someone apologized for the loss of yet another brave witch or wizard, one usually skipped the typical responses: 'It's not your fault...He died bravely...She knew the risks'...empty words that didn't come close to compensating for guilt or remorse. She poked the fire, watching red hot flames dance and spark in rhythm with the forest noise. Crickets, owls, breeze. Sounds they'd taken for granted not long ago, now seemed a bit out of place. "Do you think we'll take Azkaban now?"_

_Neville shrugged throwing in a bit more kindling. "Don't know. I hope so...might speed things along at least." _

_She looked down, "Yeah...that'd be lovely." Absently, she reached underneath her sweater and pulled out a small silver chain, shimmering in the firelight. At its center hung a miniature snitch, the smallest and fastest ball in the game of Quidditch. Neville looked away...knowing full well it wasn't Quidditch she was thinking of. _

_"You um...think Ron'll still be up on that thestral when we get back?" He was stammering now. He always did at this point. After the running and the chasing and the fleeing and the fighting. When the daily routine of war subsided and there was nothing left to make except conversation, that was when Neville hurt the most._

_...And Ginny knew it. So she chuckled, "Most likely. I don't think he'll ever come off that thing. He actually said_ _it was better than a broomstick."_

_"Out loud?" he crossed his arms._

_Ginny smiled. "Yeah," she said replacing her necklace. "Witnesses and everything." _

_And it was over as quickly as it had begun. Neville was no good at small talk. Neither was Ginny really. And both of them seemed to sense what a disaster it would be if either of them strayed too far from idle chatter... So talk lapsed into silence and the pitter-patter of rain started to fall atop their makeshift hut...and once again, things better left unsaid...stayed that way._

...

_The first thing Neville noticed the next morning were his shoes. An odd detail to say the least, considering everything else that was wrong. But when his groggy eyes finally focused on the ground in front of him, he wondered for a split second why Ginny had moved his shoes. He distinctly remembered slipping them off by the stump right at his feet before he turned in. Why would Ginny have kicked them haphazardly in front of his head? He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm and sat up, shaking his head. He blinked a few times, sunlight now cutting through their shelter of branches and leaves...and that's when he saw Ginny...standing rigid in front of a faded fire, pressed against a death eater with a wand at her throat._

_"Ginny!" Neville screamed, a surge of heat and terror rushing through him as he grasped for his wand, knowing full well that the death eater would have taken it already. "Bastard! Let her go!" he shouted at the cloaked figure. Inside Neville shuddered at the sheer stupidity of his demand. Maybe Oliver Wood or Harry Potter could strike fear in the iron hearts of the dark army...but not Neville Longbottom. Ginny's eyes were frozen with fear, her freckles standing out on pale skin. _

_"I think not, Longbottom." And Neville clenched his jaw down hard. He knew that voice well...very well. One could almost laugh at the theatrics of the moment as Zacharias Smith pulled off his hood, smiling brightly as if he'd just won the house cup._

_"Smith, I swear-" he said buying time, looking around for something...anything to strike back. _

_"What Snivelle? What's your next move?"_

_But Neville didn't move. There was nothing he could do. Zach knew it...and so did Ginny._

_"What's wrong? Forget your remembrall?" the death eater hissed. "Can't remember what Potty-wotty would do?"_

_"Why Zach?" Neville said, scrambling for ideas. 'Keep him talking' he thought, 'Keep him talking' that's what Moody would say. "Why did you turn on the D.A?"_

_But Zach just snickered. "To think I was ever a part of your pathetic muggle-loving operation. The Dark Lord knew though. He's never had to question my loyalty." Neville clenched his fists together as Zach drew the tip of his wand up Ginny's neck and rested on her temple. "But it looks like your precious Potter might have cause to question yours." A single tear escaped down Ginny's cheek as Zach ran his other hand surreptitiously through her hair._

_Neville went mad. He launched himself off the ground, prepared to tear him apart with bare hands if necessary. But it was a plan conceived in anger, drenched in hate. Smith flew a curse out at him as if he were swatting a fly and Neville fell to the ground, twitching with pain. _

_"Neville!" Ginny yelped and Zach tightened his grip on her waist. _

_"Let him rot, luv," Zach pressed her close, "We've got bigger plans for you." His wand returned to her neck and he chuckled near her ear. "It's not every day we capture Harry Potter's girlfriend. Let me just finish off your friend here first."_

_Neville squeezed his stomach, still reeling from the curse and managed to catch her eye. She was sobbing now, tears streaming down her cheeks...and there was something different in her face. Ever so slightly, she drew something from her cloak and Neville's insides churned when he realized it was the last of the liquid-Cruciatus. Questions forever unanswered swept through his mind. How had she gotten it? When had she taken it from him?...How did she know?_

_Silently, he shook his head, pleading for her not to do it. "No," he whispered. But Zach had already raised his wand to finish the job. All he could do was watch as Ginny, in an almost graceful motion, slammed the vile against Smith's arm and crushed the potion into their skins. _

_The effects were almost immediate, bright yellow steam rising from beneath their pores. Zach fell to the ground almost immediately. The curse worked faster through blackened hearts than it did through pure. With her last shred of sanity, Ginny simply smiled. And then she too collapsed._

"Expecto Patronum!" Lavender shouted, her patronus still weak. Getting rid of rogue dementors used to be easier when there were happier memories to store. But she would not give up. Neville was close to passing out and the demon was clearly hungry. Happy memory...Something joyful...she started panting. It no longer worked to just think of Dean. He'd been gone for so long, even thoughts of Dean now were sad. The day he asked me to dance... she thought. "EXPECTO PATRONUM!" It worked. A brilliant white dolphin sailed from her wand and repelled the dementor down the corridor and out of sight where she knew Mad Eye Moody would be waiting for it. She rushed over to Neville who lay scrunched in a ball, his face white, eyes bloodshot.

"You all right?"

Neville coughed, letting her help him up. "I'm fine," he said. It was a bold-faced lie, but most had learned by now to accept it and move on. Neville no longer remembered what it was like to face a dementor and be made to relive painful hospital visits, or exceptionally embarrassing days in Snape's class. Before the war started, Harry Potter was the only one he knew of with a history so horrible, a dementor's presence could knock him out. But all Neville saw now was Ginny. Always Ginny. Destroying herself to save him...with a potion he'd created.

"Let me take you back to the hospital wing-" Lavender offered, trying to support his weight.

But Neville shrugged her off. "I said I'm fine."

She sighed and nodded, waiting a bit before she spoke again. "Then you're needed in the teacher's lounge."

Neville stopped, "Why?"

She brushed herself off and replaced her wand. "Well, that's why I came to find you," she said, fidgeting with the ends of her hair. "We just got word from the Order. There's a meeting at Azkaban."


	7. Stalemate

Summary:

There are no muggles in foxholes. An account of the 2nd great wizarding war, of battles still to be won, and the love of a young bookworm for the man, the cause, the friends and the life she was forced to abandon.

Disclaimer:

I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters, their world or their toys. I do however lay claim to Alfred Ziggernut...Ziggernut. I mean come _on_. Who else could come up with a name like that?

Sacred Bonds

By Rebecca

Stalemate

_Chains. Keys jingling. People murmuring. People used to murmur in the halls like that at school. At Hogwarts. He should be at Hogwarts. Finals soon. Hermione would just kill him if he missed finals. Hermione. "HERMIONE!"...nice Red…You know you want to, Red...red, the color of blood… Harry's blood. "We need it Ron. Don't be squeamish."...no...no...focus. Chains. Keys jingling. People murmuring. They're coming. Just focus. Keys jingling. They're coming..._Ron was losing his mind.

It was a proven fact that prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus curse made a wizard go insane. They'd seen it. In Neville's parents. In Ginny. Ron couldn't remember anymore how long he'd been tortured. How many days, months it had been since his capture. He didn't know that he had endured the Cruciatus longer than any other wizard in history without breaking. But it wouldn't last. The remaining shreds of volition left inside of him knew that he wouldn't survive another session. He had to act now. Ron's last move. And he would win. He had to. He would not leave her alone.

His cell door swung open and large unforgiving hands grabbed his neck and yanked him to his feet. He was fairly certain that Goyle's cloaked henchman was Alfred Ziggernut, a Slytherin from Ginny's year..._Ginny...poor Ginny_... "_she's so pale_..."... "_I'm so sorry Ron_..." _Ron_. _I'm RON...Focus_!

"Let's go, Red," a grave voice ordered as he was shoved out of his cell. His cell. 75 paces to the interrogation room. _1...2...3...4_...he counted each one. Forced himself to concentrate on each number. If he skipped one...even one, he'd be lost. _16…17…18_…it had to be done, he knew that. _29…30…31_…Any other way and Goyle would be able to react. _56…57…58_…besides, Lupin might call it poetic justice. And while justice was the last thing Ron was worried about, it helped ease his conscience…and his stomach.

_...73...74...75_. He was upon the door. Alfred opened it and Ron was thrust inside, shoved into his seat and left alone. It wouldn't be long now. All the pieces were in place. He just had to wait...just a little longer ...wait ...until—

"Evening Red," Goyle cackled. He heard the stones slide into place. _Top, Left, Center, Center, Down_, he told himself. And he repeated it. _Top, Left, Center, Center, Down_. The wand combination, the key to opening the wall. It had taken several sessions but he'd finally figured out the pattern. The doorway was like the brick entrance to Diagon Alley behind the Leaky Cauldron. If he could touch a wand to the right bricks in the right order, it would open. What lay beyond, he didn't know. But it was his best shot. His only shot. And he had to take it...now.

He counted Goyle's footsteps. Slow. Interminable. _1...2...3... _ He had to focus on the numbers. Cold hard numbers. He had to wait until Goyle faced him or it wouldn't work. _ 4...5...Hurry up_! He thought_...too slow. He's going too slow!...is he stopping? Stopping...gotta stop the quaffle...NO!...6...7..._And Goyle was in front of him. Ron drew a deep breath and placed his hands on the table, palms pressed into the wood gripping its edges.

He watched Goyle lean forward and withdraw his wand. The wand. It was time. "So, Weasel. You ready for—"

"HERMIONE!" Ron screamed, taking nearly everything out of him. It ripped his throat apart as the sound of her name bellowed from his mouth. But it worked. Goyle proved himself every bit the thick-headed goon he always was, standing before him unmistakably stunned.

His confusion lasted only a few seconds. Just a few seconds. But Ron knew all the numbers. And he knew that's all he needed. Summoning all the strength he had left, Ron snatched Goyle's outstretched wand and turned it on him. "Petrificus Totalis!" he shouted. And with a look of utter shock still frozen across his face, Goyle's body went rigid and he thudded like a statue to the floor.

Ron wasted no time, his mind pulling itself together as the moments passed. There was a goal now. An end in sight. And it was Hermione. Always Hermione.

"Goyle!" he heard behind him. Alfred charged inside the door, wand raised, but Ron dropped him instantly. Voldemort himself might well be on the other side of the brick wall. His plan was likely to fail. But Ronald Weasley would not be stopped by a man named Alfred Ziggernut!

The cell was quiet now and he stood for a moment, staring at the two dark wizards sprawled at his feet. It would be so easy, he thought as he extended Goyle's wand above him. So incredibly easy to finish the job right here and now. Fear frozen in their faces, bodies immobilized. Even if his escape failed, at least the world would be rid of Gregory Goyle. Ron had never cast the Killing Curse before. He actually didn't know of any good witch or wizard who had had to resort to it yet. But it was tempting. God, it was tempting. He crouched over the petrified body of a wizard who represented everything that went wrong, was wrong and always would be wrong in his world. A 280-pound tub of lard made up entirely of hate, ignorance and greed. So easy, he thought and he gripped the wand. Why not? Didn't he have the right? Hadn't he endured enough?

Goyle stared back at him, still incapable of moving. Those eyes. Those eyes that laughed at him, taunted him. Forced him to cry for mercy, cry for her! Ron sprung to his feet. He would show him. He would show Gregory Goyle what it was like to beg for mercy, knowing none would come. _So easy_…he thought. He raised the wand and aimed—

_"But it's never easy, Ron…it was never supposed to be."_ Ron's hand trembled and he shook his head, his eyes darting around, his mind still so jumbled. Was he hearing things? Was someone else in the room? _"If such things were easy Ron, there would be no night and day. Only blackness. Blackness in the heart…in the mind. If such things were easy, Ron, the world would know only hate…only fear. We fight because it's not easy. We fight because it's hard…and because it's right."_ A tear rolled off his cheek, the first tear he'd shed since his capture, as the last words Dumbledore ever spoke to him echoed in a memory untainted by the curse. Ron lowered his wand. Never easy. He turned toward the wall and left Goyle behind…for good.

...

He'd tapped the right combination of bricks just as he'd remembered it. _Top, Left, Center, Center, Down_. He no longer knew why exactly he'd attributed those directions. He knew only that they made sense in his mind at the time and it was what stuck. Beyond the bricks lay an open passageway. To his immediate surprise, there were no guards. No goons. No sign in fact that the prison was inhabited at all. And as Ron struggled to remember, he didn't recall seeing any other captives during his time here. He pressed on and the bricks began to fold closed behind him. It was pitch black now. Dark. Damp. _Damp… like the Chamber of Secrets…pipes everywhere… "Harry, you have to save my sister…"_ Ron shook his head again, random thoughts casting about inside without anchor. Too random…_my sister… "So cold… so pale…"…Hermione touched his arm. Just like she had when his father died. Arthur… "Arthur was the best of all of us," Moody said… "I'm so sorry, Molly"…can't believe he's gone…gone…can't believe he's gone…Harry'd been gone for too long. Have to find Harry…make sure he's all right…but you'll be captured!...doesn't matter...have to find Harry— "hello, Weasel. Long time no see—_

"Stop!" Ron cried out and he fell against the wall, pulling at his hair. "Go away!" He had to focus. _Focus! 1…2…3…_he started counting his footsteps. _Focus on the numbers… numbers. 4…5…6…_ The tip of his wand dimmed, shining just enough to see the next few paces in front of him. It was too long, he thought. Too long of a walk and no light at the end. This couldn't be where Goyle came from every night. Had he missed it? Had he gone too far? Did he tap the right bricks? Should he go back? _No_, he thought instantly, driving the thought away forever. He would never go back. He would starve to death in this endless tunnel before he went back. No. This had to be the way. _21..22..23…_any minute now, he would see some sign of life, some explanation of where he was. A chance to get home. Any minute now—

There was a reason no light shined in front of him. No evidence of the tunnel's end. Ron ran straight into another brick wall. Same configuration. Same charm...different combination. Ron was stuck.

"No..." he whispered, feeling his hand along the wall. "NO!" He tried to tap the bricks. _Top, Left, Center, Center... Right_? The details were fading. It had been a while since he'd had to focus. He couldn't remember..._Left? Top?...no...Down...down? Down where?... 'Get down, Ron!...Move!'... 'whew, that was close'... 'Harry, you're bleeding...' ...Harry's blood...we need some of Harry's blood...Harry's blood... "Stop!" he cried, but it lacked the strength he'd felt before...We need it Ron, don't be squeamish...Harry...Harry had been gone...gone...gone too long. Gotta go find Harry..._

A mere shell of a wizard sank to the floor, all hope drained. He'd hit a dead end. The one possibility he'd never considered and thus, never planned for. He'd prepared himself for more guards, more troops. Someone to block the way. He'd prepared for escape...for survival in the wilderness once beyond the prison. But he hadn't prepared for this. He no longer knew any spells to break down walls, unlock charms. There was barely enough concentration left in his mind to remember Petrificus Totalis, and it took him three days to drill that deep enough to remember to use it on Goyle and Alfred.

It was all for nothing. Ron's last move had ended in stalemate. Nothing. Just voices. Endless voices and echoes of adventures past that were now too strong, too random for him to block. He curled himself into a ball, rocking back and forth in the blackness and surrendered his mind to the dark.

...

"It's not as if they won't have enough people there," Neville called from the kitchen, pouring two cups of tea.

Hermione slammed her fist on the table, "That's not the point!" The sound startled Crookshanks, her orange tabby, and she rolled her eyes as the cat leapt off the rocking chair, in search of cover. "This is exactly why I told Molly I didn't want a Secret Keeper. I don't want all this attention. The Order has enough to do without all this fuss over 'who will take care of Hermione?'" Irritation and mockery saturated her speech as Neville carefully set the tea-cup in front of her, afraid she might shatter it if he got too close.

"I hardly call one wizard staying behind a fuss, Hermione," he offered, trying to keep his voice light. He skillfully avoided her eyes, a talent he'd developed over years of ignoring his grandmother whenever she got into a strop. "Besides, if you go into labor—"

"I'm not going into labor," she scoffed, as if the idea of a woman 8 ½ months pregnant going into labor at a time of inconvenience was a ludicrous one. Neville bit back a laugh. It was a rare thing to see Hermione Granger so openly irrational and a true shame that he'd be the only one to witness it. Ron and Harry might have had a holiday otherwise.

"I won't argue again that it could be any day now," he said, sipping his tea. "And if you do need me, I bloody well better be nearby, not off scheming at Azkaban." Hermione crossed her arms and huffed, her only reply. Neville smiled, "Drink your tea."

Eventually, she unfolded her arms and reached for the cup. She hated feeling like this. It was quite vexing. Hermione loathed chaos and disorder, and now they seemed the only forces that ruled her. She hated being pregnant.

Slowly, she lifted the saucer, straining to reach over her enlarged belly and she grunted in frustration. But Neville had learned the hard way not to help her do the simple things. Once he had tried to pick up a book she'd dropped and it almost bit off his hand. Finally, she took a sip, letting the tea coat her throat and she closed her eyes.

For a few moments, there was peace in her little hut. Crookshanks curled under her bed while Neville, sipping quietly, skimmed through an open book on the table. Then it happened. The baby kicked...hard.

"Blimey!" she muttered, hunched forward as she winced in pain. Neville sprang to his feet.

"You all right?" But Hermione didn't answer. She didn't move. Just stared ahead and waited. And then it happened again. Another sharp kick. Her hands started trembling and Neville fumbled for her tea-cup before it dropped. "'Hermione, talk to me. Is it a contraction?"

But she shook her head. "No..." she whispered. She squeezed her eyes shut and gripped Neville's outstretched arm. "It's all wrong..." she muttered, "...feels...wrong..."

"What does? What feels wrong?"

She felt nauseous and dizzy, as if spinning out of control. An image flashed in her mind. The silhouette of a man hunched in a corner. It flashed again, sparks of green...red. She sprang back in her chair, convulsing, saucers and cups shattering to the floor. Crookshanks hissed in the corner and the baby continued to kick. More and more images raced past her mind. Places unknown to her. People in dark cloaks, murmuring. And then the man. Curled in the corner. And suddenly, she knew what it meant.

"RON!" she screamed in terror. Neville struggled with her arms flailing about.

"Hermione, calm down!" He grasped both her hands and steadied her in the chair, panting and stepping over broken china as he felt her muscles go limp again. It seemed her brief fit was over, but it left Neville terrified. She was drenched in sweat, but her skin was cold...and pale.

"No," she whispered, out of breath. "Ron." It was like waking from a nightmare. Sensations so strong they were almost real. But Hermione had not been asleep. This was no dream. This was something far worse. She looked at Neville as tears streaked down her face. "He's given up."

...

Not even the wisest medi-wizards had discovered all the secrets of a wizard's body and soul, to say nothing of the unique bond shared between mother and child. Hermione had only suspected before, wondered if there was something more than a maternal connection between her and her child. Now she knew. For the baby had felt it. Sensed it. Connected to mother and father by magic fused with their love, their passion. Until now, it had only been theory: a few rumors, minor accounts here and there from the last war**. **Trivial stories from trivial books she'd read only to pass the time now seemed to hold the key. Their baby knew that Ron was slipping away.

"Dream-walking," she said, mostly to herself.

But Neville wanted answers, "Hermione, what happened?"

"No time," she said, struggling to get out of her chair. "Neville...help me—"

"Hey, hey! You're not going anywhere!" he said, grabbing her elbow.

She glared at him, not quite angry but showed signs that would change if he got in her way. "Neville listen to me," she said, pushing herself to her feet. He had no choice but to help her. "Ron doesn't have a lot of time. We need to—"

"Ron? Time? What?" he said bewildered, shaking his hands, "How do you—"

"Please! Let me finish," she grabbed hold of his wrists and looked straight into his eyes. "Neville you have to... not be you for a second ok? Trust me on this? Ron needs me, so I need you. Got it?" He shook his head, but he didn't interrupt. Hermione took a deep breath. "He's trapped. I don't know where exactly because...well I don't think he knows. But he's hit a dead end and Goyle will find him if we don't do something." The words spilled out faster than the thoughts themselves. Details she shouldn't... couldn't know. Except she did. She was sure of it.

Neville looked quite characteristically flabbergasted. Slowly, he shrugged out of her grasp on his hands and pinched the ridge of his nose. He looked at her and sighed, his voice soft, "How...do you know?"

She looked down, running her hand protectively over her belly. "The baby knows."

Neville reeled back. "The baby?"

"Yes! The baby. He's dream-walking."

He looked at the ceiling, "Dream-walking? 'Hermione, that's a myth—"

"No it's not!"

"Yes it is!" he spun around, pacing near the foot of her bed. "You tried it already remember? When Ron first got captured! You took every mind-reading, occlumency and telepathy book the library had—"

"And I felt something—"

He shook his head, "you thought you felt something."

"No I didn't!" she marched over to him as fast as her heavy legs could take her. "Neville, this is me ok? Hermione. I know what I'm talking about. You know dream-walking isn't a myth. Voldemort did it to Harry—"

"That's different-"

"Think about it! Voldemort and Harry are linked through the curse in his scar right?"

"Right," he said warily.

"So? Ron and I are linked too...through our son."

Neville suddenly looked even more frightened. "You're telling me you're seeing Ron's thoughts through the baby?"

"Yes."

"No!" he pulled at his already disheveled hair, "Hermione that's mad! Even if you're right—"

"I am right. He needs help." She turned away, walking over to her bookshelf. "Just a spell," she said to herself, clearly uninterested in continuing the argument, "something to break apart the wall."

"Listen to me," he hovered over her shoulder, "if you're right, how come it hasn't happened before? How come you haven't been seeing his thoughts all along?"

She urgently flipped through pages, throwing books on the floor. "I-I don't know," she shook her head, "Maybe because his mind is so...so weak now? Maybe that's why the baby was kicking so hard."

"So what, you're going to...send him a message?" He grabbed a book from a lower shelf she was reaching for and handed it to her.

She took it, "Yes."

"How? You can't even control—"

"Neville!" she nearly screamed, grasping his forearms. "This may be the only chance I have to help save my husband. Are you going to help me or not?"

He wanted to. How desperately he wanted to...needed to help someone...save someone. But risk her life in the process? "'Hermione," he said softly. "Do you know what just happened to you in there?" he pointed to the little breakfast table, shuddering at the image of her convulsing in her seat, her face white as a ghost. "And that was just a few seconds."

She looked down and sighed. "It's Ron," she said, her voice breaking. Tears welled in her eyes, but she would not let them spill. She looked up again. "Please."

He tried to look away, but she wouldn't let him. And she wouldn't be stopped either; he'd known that all along. His stomach flip-flopped as surrender seemed imminent. Finally, he nodded and grabbed a notebook filled with notes and potion ingredients she'd used over the years. She managed a smile before she turned back to the shelf, skimming other titles and murmuring to herself just like she always did when she knew the right answer.

Neville watched her, the magnitude of what he'd just agreed to catching up with him, and he suddenly felt as if his last chance at redemption had come...and gone.


	8. Dreamwalking

**Summary:** There are no muggles in foxholes. An account of the 2nd great wizarding war, of battles still to be won, and the love of a young bookworm for the man, the cause, the friends and the life she was forced to abandon.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the Harry Potter character…good God, how many times must I say it? )

Sacred Bonds

By Rebecca

Dream-walking

_Please don't do this…please don't do this…_he said to himself, squeezing her hand as she lay across the bed, seemingly at rest. As usual, it hadn't taken Hermione very long to find what she needed once she knew what to look for. She was, after all…brilliant. _And completely mad!_ Neville knew 6 months ago that he'd regret the day he became a secret-keeper. Regret the day he allowed himself to be responsible for someone again. That day had come and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it now but hope…and pray…and hold her hand.

Dream-walking wasn't like occlumency. One's control over another's mind rarely reached beyond his ability to see memories, feel emotions. A sort of telepathy between wizards in close proximity, occlumency was hard enough to control. Seeing what another sees. Feeling what he feels. But dream-walking…dream-walking was different. It was more than intrusion. It was invasion. Branded a myth in public circles because it was _dangerous_, not fictional. Hermione was right. It had been done. They'd seen the effects Voldemort had on Harry's mind before the Sentinels took over. Professor Snape had spent countless days and nights teaching Harry advanced occlumency to help him block it…with minimal success. It was simply too strong, too taxing on the body and the soul. The only reason Voldemort had been able to dream-walk so well and so often was simply because…he _had_ no soul. This was clearly not the case for Hermione Granger and so, additional measures had to be taken…_Please don't do this…please don't do this…_Neville continued to chant to himself. But it was no use. The spell had already begun. And he had a part to play.

For Hermione, there was no question, no doubt in her mind about what she had to do. She'd been at rest now for several minutes, eyes closed, trying to let her thoughts wander as the old books had instructed her. On the surface it worked like a fairly standard spell. She had to use arithmancy to determine the proper ratio of ingredients in the potion Neville helped her mix. It would act as a sedative, but still allow Hermione conscious thought as she let her mind seek out Ron's. Not exactly out of the ordinary as far as advanced potion-spells go. But as is always the case with magic, its success depended entirely on power of the mind…and it was the strength of Ron's mind that was in question. She hoped, rather than knew his fragile state might work to their advantage. With his thoughts so jumbled already, it was wide open for her to slip inside…getting out would be the problem.

It hadn't been easy to find accurate information on the actual act of dream-walking. After all, it wasn't an exact art. One can't _teach_ mind manipulation. And there are certain conditions beyond anyone's control that _must_ already exist, such as two wands that share the same unique and exclusive core…or a child that shares two hearts.

But it had been nearly 10 minutes of meditation, and all remnants of the spontaneous connection their son had made earlier seemed gone. Hermione's head pounded in frustration as she tried to let go. But she seemed to be simply colliding with herself. Her thoughts ricocheted off the boundaries of her mind, pounding into walls too thick and black to penetrate inside her head. Deafening echoes with nowhere to go.

She was trying too hard…that she knew. But it was something else…_Please don't do this…_something stopping her…_Please don't do this_…some_one_ stopping her. "Neville!" she cried and her eyes sprang open.

From Neville's point of view, she'd appeared almost comatose. And he jerked in surprise at her sudden outburst. "What—what?" he said. "Did you get through? Did you…did you see him?"

She turned her head to face him, all further movement impossible with the baby so far along. Besides, she was already weak from the effects of the potion. "Neville," she said dry-mouthed, as if she'd been without drink for days. "You must let go."

Neville looked down at his hand, nearly crushing her own. He'd been squeezing so tight the past few minutes, it felt like a part of him. Hesitantly, he loosened his grip, but didn't let go. "Y-you told me not to."

Her eyes drooped. She didn't want to fully wake up. They were running out of time. _Ron_ was running out of time. But deep down she understood his confusion. Neville's role in the spell had seemed a necessary precaution at first. His presence would be a point of origin for her to find her way back. His grasp would help keep her soul grounded in the right plane of existence while her mind wandered another. But now it was clear Neville was the only thing blocking her. He didn't want her to go. And she no longer had the time or energy to convince him. "It's not working. You're…you're holding me back."

"Hermione, you said-"

"Please," she urged, her eyes saying all that her mouth could not. _Not another argument. Not another objection._Neville looked back at their hands. Images of Ginny flashed through his mind and reluctantly, he released her. Hermione's eyes fell closed again and Neville sat back in the chair, watching as another fatal mistake consumed another friend.

...

Hermione didn't know quite what she'd been expecting. Images not unlike old muggle science fiction films perhaps. Spiraling through a vortex of swirling stars while laser beams shot past her at broomstick speeds, maybe?...Or at the very least, a semblance of distance traveled or time passed?

But her journey into Ron's mind was as choppy and sudden as it had been at the breakfast table. Currents of thought and emotion enveloped her and she felt as if every mind she'd ever touched or challenged had plunged her into a kaleidoscope of random images. Images mostly of people she knew: herself, Ron and Harry... but there was nothing to distinguish one from the other. They were translucent, fading echoes bleeding into each other without a hint of order or method.

For a moment, she couldn't breathe, and she heaved giant raspy gulps of air before she realized, and forced herself to adjust to the fact that such physical needs did not follow her to this plane. _Think, you stupid git! _she thought and immediately an image of herself passed by, clearer than the others. She was sitting in a classroom, hands tugging at her hair as she struggled to remember the answer to Professor Snape's final exam question. Hermione tried to reach out, the image so plainly in front of her. But it was like breathing. She had no body in the physical sense. There was nothing _to_ touch and no hands to touch with. Hermione felt as if she were learning to walk with no floor beneath her. She had simply _become_ perception and what she saw were merely her thoughts manifested in ways she could understand.

_Wicked!,_ she thought before she could help herself. Even the most dire circumstances couldn't suppress Hermione's unwavering curiosity. And immediately she saw another flash. This time, she was in the library with Ron and Harry. It was the middle of their second year, and they were speaking in harsh whispers. Hermione recognized it as the time they'd agreed to brew the polyjuicepotion_ so Ron and Harry could find out what Malfoy was up to by turning into Crabbe and Goyle_—

At that moment, the image and all that surrounded it shattered like a brick through a stained glass window. Shards of broken crystal and glass tumbled down, and she resisted the temptation to cover her eyes, once again reminded of her altered state and determined to adapt. The falling pieces swirled beneath her into a thick black cloud of mirth and dread, and the stench that arose was definitely that of hate…of vengeance. The air (or whatever it was around her that could odorize such things) grew cold as a new image rose from shadows below. A large cloaked figure adorned in dark talismans and treasure …beating Ron to the ground.

And Hermione understood.

These weren't representations of _her_ thoughts at all. They were Ron's. She'd made it. She'd crossed into his mind…and Goyle's torture was the strongest, most coherent and powerful memory he had left…

_Easy Red…give it up Red,_ Goyle's voice pounded. "No!" Ron moaned, yanking, pulling, tearing out his red hair, as if he could wipe out the memory of that sordid nickname and the person who gave it to him. He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there, collapsed against cold stone, reliving moments out of time too fast, too chaotic to keep up. _Say it Red…you know you want to…scream for her Ron…_

_Ron?..._he froze. Something was different. Someone here? They were coming for him. He was going back to the cell and—_Ron, c-can you…h-hear me?_

"No," he said allowed and shook his head. Just one more thought casting about inside. One more painful memory. He pushed it away…_Ron, stop!..._

What Hermione originally predicted had been correct. She'd slipped right into Ron's subconscious. But she hadn't taken into account how unstable that world had become. He was fighting her. Unable to distinguish her voice from hundreds. And its effect was suffocating. Images were closing in. Flashes of herself at their wedding, Harry's first Quidditch match, cursing Malfoy with a hexed wand, their first kiss, Mr. Weasley's memorial service, Christmas presents, Molly's mince pies, Harry's last night at Hogwarts, their last night together…all of them, wrapping themselves around her. Images now opaque, bound together into one giant mass and bearing down. She had to be heard or Ron's mind would kill her! _Maybe Neville was right…_

_Neville? _Ron shook his head again. Something different, he thought again. Someone here..._Neville?..._and he saw it. Longbottom sitting nervously beside a bed, Hermione lying atop the blanket…his blanket?…no, something mum made?…what was she doing?...sleeping?...dying?...it was another memory…but it wasn't his. And it didn't hurt. _Ron!_ He heard someone cry out. His head whipped around, peering down the pitch black corridor…no…nothing there. _Ron!_ He closed his eyes. "Hermione," he whispered…

Tears stung eyes that couldn't cry as she beheld the image in front of her. Everything was gone. The broken pieces, the clouds. The chaotic tornado of thought that seconds ago threatened to consume her…all replaced by a single man. And it wasn't an echo. It was him. It was Ron. Looking straight into her soul. She'd done it…she'd made a connection.

Both just stared for a moment, Ron too hammered and beaten to understand what was happening, and Hermione, too overcome with emotion. Her brief fit that morning had haunted her with the sight of a broken, defeated shell of the man she'd married. But in here…in here, he was still the same. The same old Ron. Intense, frustrated, bewildered old Ronald Weasley.

"Hermione?"

"Ron, we haven't much time—" she tried to move forward, but something sharp pulled her back. _No…_

"Hermione, what's going— "

"Listen to me," she panted…_not yet…please not yet!..._"You've got to…break down the wall…"

Ron squinted in confusion. What the hell was she talking about? What was she even doing there?...Where _was_ he?

She shrieked in pain, "The wall, Ron! You have to break it apart before they come for you!"

"Hermione!"

"_Reducto_, Ron!" she screamed. "_REDUCTO!"_ and in a flash of brilliant yellow light, she was hurled away from her husband.

Hermione never did conquer her fear of flying. And that was certainly no help as she felt herself flung backwards. Something wasn't right. What happened? She'd made a connection. Why did it break?

It wasn't fair.

She needed more time

…_more time_

_…not fair_

_... _"RON!"

She lurched upward as her mind was thrust back into her body and forced awake. "No…" she wheezed, barely able to speak. Pain. Sweat. Fear. What was happening to her? She strained her neck, looking around and a searing ache shot up her spine. "Bloody hell!" she cried. It was at that moment she realized Neville was no longer beside her.

"Hermione!" she heard in the distance. He was near the fire place, something boiling on the cauldron? Another pain gripped her stomach and she cried out. "'Mione, good God!" Neville was in front of her again.

"N-neville?" She looked up at his ragged face, flushed and drenched with sweat, and saw her own terror reflected in his eyes. "Wh-what's…—ah!" she cried out again.

"You're having contractions, Hermione. Have been for last hour," he said hurriedly, pausing only a second to squeeze her hand before he returned to the cauldron.

Contractions?...Hour?...what was he talking about? She stared ahead at the straw and bristle roof of her hut through bleary eyes and tried again to focus. _I've only been gone a few minutes._. "H-how…w-what—" she couldn't quite form the words. She wasn't even sure yet where she was.

But Neville was certain. For three hours now, he'd kept vigil at her side. Watching her. Crying over her. Convinced she was lost forever. But when her body started convulsing and her mind still slept, he knew something was wrong. "Neville!" he heard her scream again. He chucked a handful of towels over his shoulder and skidded across the hard wood floor.

"It's all right. You're all right now," he said, reaching for her. But there wasn't time for relief or comfort. Neville had to work fast, or he'd lose them both tonight.

"What's…happening…" she said as reality dawned.

"It's time! You're going into labor."


	9. Morsmordre

**Summary:** There are no muggles in foxholes. An account of the 2nd great wizarding war, of battles still to be won, and the love of a young bookworm for the man, the cause, the friends and the life she was forced to abandon.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters, their world or their toys. In fact, I don't think there's any character, invention, spell or concept in this particular chapter that I can take credit for. Man…that sucks. I gotta stop writing fan fiction.

Sacred Bonds

By Rebecca

Morsmordre

"REDUCTO!" Ron yelled, his iron clad grip wrapped around Goyle's wand. Orange sparks flew at the wall. He could hear the bricks splitting and crumbling apart. "REDUCTO!" he screamed again. He still wasn't sure what had happened. Had he just seen Hermione? Was she somewhere nearby? If she was, he couldn't leave her. Wouldn't leave her alone to be captured by _Goyle…Goyle…Easy Red…say it Red_… but he'd searched the tunnel. Stumbled around blindly in the darkness and found only stray shreds of his own clothing. Hermione wasn't here…but then…where…_The wall Ron! You have to break it apart before they come for you!...Reducto, Ron…REDUCTO_! The words had repeated themselves over and over. Just like every other memory. What did they mean? "Reducto," he had whispered aloud, still crouched in his corner. And in his hand, something glowed. It was Goyle's wand. He hadn't even realized he was still holding it. But it was the first glimpse of light he'd seen since he'd escaped the dungeon. "Reducto," he'd whispered again. And it glowed brighter. And all at once, he'd understood what he was meant to do.

"REDUCTO!" he now yelled a third time, firmly planted in front of the barrier, the sounds of frantic grumbling, heavy boots thumping upon stone, another wall of bricks closing behind him. The Totalis curse had finally worn off. They were coming for him. It was now or never. And in the midst of his delirium, he forced a single thought to the front of his mind and held it there. "REDUCTO!" he shouted. And at last, the wall crumbled apart.

"Hurry up, you idiot!" Goyle screamed at his henchman. But Ron was too quick. Climbing over rocks and rubble, he emerged on the other side of the wall's remains and could see, for the first time, the tiniest hint of light in the distance. He glanced backward; the faint outlines of his pursuers were gaining. Quickly, he aimed his wand at the tunnel ceiling and called out the curse again. Not protected by brick locks and other charms, it crumbled apart immediately. And just as Goyle reached the barrier, mounds of broken stone caved in between them.

Ron fled, repeatedly shouting out his spell behind him, collapsing tons of stone into rubble just inches from his feet as he sprinted toward the light. If he could just stay ahead of them, give them enough to dig through…Reducto…he repeated more to himself now. Reducto…it was the only spell that he had. And he knew it would be enough. It had come from her.

Bricks now paved in light, he held tight to the thought that he would soon be free of a world where the shining sun seemed as unlikely as a falling sky. And as he approached the cavern's opening, and inhaled the foreign scents of fresh air and pollen, Ron finally allowed himself to imagine what it would be like...to see her again, an idea so incredible it could've produced the world's most powerful patronus. Lines of shadow spread towards him as he finally reached the grated entrance. Rusty and weakened by the damage he'd caused further in, it broke apart with relative ease, and Ron spilled out into the grass.

...

It was a rare thing that so many members of the D.A. and the Order convened in one place. In fact, for close to 3 years, whole families had seen little of each other, an unfortunate but necessary consequence of their primary strategy: divide and conquer. As Cho took her post, near the east end of the broken courtyard and nodded to Wood standing opposite her, she thought back to that first meeting. In the Great Hall back at Hogwarts. A time of optimism. Heroism. A time before she could see Thestrals.

Their number had thinned considerably, but then so had the enemy's. And triumph and pride still lingered ever so subtly in the air as the remaining ranks assembled on the conquered grounds of Azkaban.

"Miss Chang," Professor Flitwick nodded up to her as he tottered by. She acknowledged him with a slight smile but kept her eyes upon the entrances and exits. Since all that remained of Azkaban was this shell of a prison, no roof, few walls, and a couple dozen pillars that seemed awkwardly out of place with no ceiling to meet, the Shadow Guard had expressed much concern for security and containment when the Order chose it. Wood was in fact, quite furious when news of victory at Dovetown had come coupled with a request to have Azkaban secured and ready for this charade soon after.

"_Raving mad! Loony! Bloody stupid_…" his ramblings had continued long into the night as they'd scurried about casting last-minute protection charms and breaking down old curses and hex-traps left behind by the Dark Army. Looking at Wood now, towering over Professor Trelawney who was engaged in some theatrical re-telling of her masterful plan that had failed only because the death eaters tampered with her crystal ball, Cho stifled a giggle and grinned. At that moment, Wood caught her eye…and she looked away.

In need of something else to focus on, she turned back toward the commotion of the gathering and watched as dozens of witches and wizards entered through the two stone pillars of the west end entrance, marching one by one through the heavily guarded bubble of invisible barriers. Kingsley Shaklebolt was heading the check team, and the sight bore a striking resemblance to the disorderly hodgepodge of students that gathered between platforms nine and ten at King's Cross each year. Seamus worked with Professor Lupin, scrutinizing each member's wand, running it through every anti-hexing spell they could think of while Shaklebolt searched the wizard himself, checking for signs of polyjuice, concealment charms, and booby traps, much to the chagrin of Professor McGonagall who was eyed with no less suspicion than the rest. After all, with their numbers so low already, and virtually every key member of the Order gathered in the same place, the risk of dark army penetration, as Wood was more than fond of mentioning, was dangerously high.

It was too surreal, too eerie to watch close comrades assembling, and feeling genuine relief they were still alive. And she swallowed hard at the realization that for every friend who came, at least 2 were never coming back. Cho swung her gaze toward the sky and let out a deep breath as she watched the rest of the Shadow Guard already circling above. She allowed herself a soft smile. They'd had their own touching reunion these previous eves. And all in all, their numbers had remained strong. Since Harry assembled them, the Guard had grown to over 150, having lost 16 in combat to date and only 4 to post-battle injuries or potion-poison. 3 were still missing-in-action…including Ron.

Merlin himself would never know how or where Hagrid had bred such a healthy herd of thestrals. They certainly never needed that many to pull the carriages at Hogwarts. But there they were, circling above, around. And as Cho returned her gaze once again to the crowd, she wondered briefly if there were any among her…who still could not see them.

"My dear little fire-cracker, how much you've grown," a husky female voice chimed near her ear. Cho turned and nearly wept at the sight of a very old friend.

"Madam Hooch!" she cried, letting her old coach draw her into a classic post-Quidditch bear hug.

"Good to see you dear, and so…" she stepped back and surveyed her former pupil, giving Cho the once over before she settled on, "…fit."

Cho blushed. It was true. Since joining the Guard, she'd cropped her famous black hair fairly close to her neck and was certainly no longer the tiny Ravenclaw seeker she'd once been. Hours of tugging and controlling the reigns of fierce airborne stallions had toned and shaped the petite figure that once turned the head of Harry Potter himself.

"How are things fairing down-under?" she asked, casting her glance around every so often, determined not to let Oliver see her distracted from her post.

Hooch sighed, "As best as can be expected. We've got most of the Aussie's mobilized in case we need them. Professor Allwine is fairly confident in his grunts." Cho laughed. "Well it's true isn't it? Dodgy old blokes. Can't stand the lot of them, but then we never could. Don't see many Aussie's comin' to Hogwarts do you now? I say though, enough of this rubbish," her hands came to her hips. "I want to see my fire-cracker up in the air!"

Cho resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. Madam Hooch always did have a mouthful and a half to say about everything, at least towards the end of school, when the formalities between teacher and student gave way to camaraderie. In fact, she had Madam Hooch to thank that she was even in the Guard. Even amidst catastrophe, they'd never stopped training. "As soon as we secure the perimeter, Madam Hooch. Wood and I will take off."

At the mention of another favorite pupil, Hooch's eagle eyes twinkled and she strained a look across the hall. Catching sight of him, Hooch dashed off almost immediately, in need of catching up with nearly everyone she possibly could before the meeting began. And Cho couldn't blame her, really. The old coach had been hopping land masses so long, she'd been nearly as concealed as the Sentinels were, quietly working her magic to prepare for the end.

"Attention!" a voice rang out, "Attention please!" McGonagall had approached the makeshift podium just outside the entrance to Azkaban's old prison ward. Its effect was certainly no surprise. Nearly everyone there had been trained since childhood to fear and respect McGonagall's command. A hush fell over the crowd as the old professor cleared her throat. "On behalf of my contingent back at Hogwarts, and all those who have stayed behind to protect our strongholds throughout Britain, I thank you for gathering here today on a most momentous occasion," she paused, and removed her glasses, her old tired eyes reflecting the fatigue and stress that lingered in the air. Finally, she looked up, and those who sat close enough would always remember the tears in her eyes as she stood, remembering the old man whose place she now took. "Three long years of loss and struggle has led us here, my friends. Azkaban prison. And although we still face great peril ahead, although our strength and our goodness will yet be tested again and again, I can see, standing before you, that the end of Voldemort's reign is near." Cheers rang up from the courtyard so strong that Cho could see the Guard wavering above, their mounts furious with excitement.

She scanned the crowd again, looking for last-minute signs of trouble before nodding to Wood who in turn nodded to Seamus. Azkaban, for now, seemed secure and Cho quietly slipped away to her thestral impatiently scuffing his hoof against the ground. The much awaited grand-scale assembly of the Order of the Phoenix had commenced with thunderous applause, resonating sounds of hope and strength in a place that historically celebrated neither. And yet, as she soared toward the sky, Wood flying close behind her, Cho Chang was suddenly thankful for the charge of keeping watch from above.

...

_Alone. It was his calling. His destiny. To always be alone. He'd felt it even before the accident. Before he'd ventured into the woods behind his house and met with a beast whose bite would change him forever. Before the serenity of the full moon became something he could never behold. Remus Lupin would always end up alone._

_A life that could perhaps be touched, but never changed. It was his mantra. Even after his brief reunion with Sirius at the end of Harry's third year. Even after the years of feeling betrayed and abandoned seemed likely to heal, he knew, in the end, it would all be stripped away. Which is perhaps why, sitting here waiting, the blackness of the cave surrounding him, Remus didn't feel so secluded. After all…he was used to it. Gently, he stoked the fire, tossing in a few generous handfuls of floo powder and watched as red and yellow flame turned to green and danced higher in the air. _

_It had been a productive morning. Thunder was healthy. Miss Chang had rejoined the squad. And the Azkaban contingent had finally reached a decision on the question of assembling the Order. At this, Lupin smiled in the shadows. He knew Harry had been close by. He could feel it. Something in the air, he'd thought. And soon, he'd be sure. He chuckled, remembering the stunned faces of those who were gathered around the Granger Map. Expressions of shock, disbelief, caution. Even Mr. Finnigan, who'd labored for days at their little round table, championing the idea of assembling, glanced at him with eyes of uncertainty, and maybe…just a hint of fear. _

_But he was right. He had to be. The complexity of the spells cast at Hogwarts that fateful night had worked just like Miss Granger had designed. That night, three years past, when the enchanted ceiling hung low and dark, and magics long forgotten were unearthed to turn a boy into a weapon, it would be Remus and Remus alone who would know when it was time. Remus alone who would feel the air charging around him. Remus…alone... _

"You don't understand-"

"I think I do-"

"'Power to the people?' You sound like a bloody American!"

"That's better than being a bloody lunatic-"

"Don't you think we've waited long enough?"

"I don't think it would kill us, to wait a bit more-"

"No, not all of us."

"Gentlemen, ladies…please-"

"We simply don't have the manpower to-"

"Well what're you waiting for? Weasley's unborn kid to pick up a wand?"

"Sod off, Moody-"

"Alastor, please-"

"No, Mad-eye's right. Our numbers will only get thinner."

"But if Harry's not ready, then what's the-"

"He's ready." And for a moment, the argument grinded to a halt. Lupin pinched the ridge of his nose and sighed, struggling to keep the wolf inside at bay. The month's full moon was near, he could feel it; which meant that his tolerance for childish bickering, with so much at stake already, was steadily decreasing. Cho Chang had been right. Far better to be circling above right now. What began in unity and hope had quickly deteriorated into scattered factions of opinion and opposition. Like a session of parliament …without the tea. He looked to the sky, watching the thestrals glide to and fro, and wondered for a moment what it would be like to trust an animal again.

"How can you be sure, Remus?" McGonagall asked uncomfortably.

But the one problem with Lupin's enlightenment had been secrecy. From the very beginning, he knew it would be a struggle to convince his peers that they truly were ready to deal Voldemort the final blow. If he was too upfront about what he knew and how, the entire spell would collapse…and then no one would be safe. If only they could see…feel. If only they could have visited the cave that night. "As I offered to Kingsley last week, Professor," Lupin began carefully, "we know he hasn't been caught or the Sentinels—"

"I think we can all agree the boy is safe, Lupin," Moody growled, arms crossed, his good eye fixed on Remus while the other rolled back into his head, stealing a glance at the elves preparing a spread of mince pies and butterbeer behind him.

"He's not a boy," Lupin said sternly. And no one disagreed. But they remained unconvinced. He looked back to McGonagall for some support, some hint that she understood. But the old witch stared back like the cat she was. Skeptical. Doubtful. Unable to trust, as she had been ever since Dumbledore died. "Look, it's hard to explain. I'm not really even sure myself," he lied. "But we knew there would be a sign. Some sort of warning the end was near. I believe the fall of Azkaban, Dovetown, Stoatshead and Bristol are all fairly good signs."

"Marginal victories in cockney towns are no reason to start plotting mass suicide!" came Amos Diggory's icy voice.

"Marginal? Cockney? Are you mad?" Moody shook a crotchety finger at the former Ravenclaw. "I suppose you would think that. No victory's been good enough for the likes of you Diggory—"

"Gentlemen, this is hardly helping," offered Professor Sprout, her own mild-tempered blood beginning to boil. Remus's head sank into his hands. She was right. It would be several days before the Sentinels returned. And by that point, preparations needed to be well underway.

Doris Crawford stepped forward, her old bony legs still tired from carrying her through the first war. "I think now would be a wonderful time to perhaps, take a break from our…negotiations, Minerva?"

Taking the cue, McGonagall realized Moody was likely to transfigure Diggory into a chipmunk soon and intervened. "Mrs. Crawford is right." She stepped between them, her own impressive height nearly equaling her peer's. "Enough for now, Alastor. I think it's best if we all—"

But a rumble of activity in the ranks behind her caused them all to turn. Seamus was making his way through the aisles, pushing people out of the way and climbing over chairs. A chorus of 'hey!' and 'watch where you're goin' mate!' echoed among the various committees and legions that were conducting similar meetings of their own. But Seamus's urgency seemed to alert them and Lupin noticed many were looking up.

"Professor!" he called out. He was panting and pointing toward the sky. "McGonagall! Lupin! Look!"

Remus flung back his head and gaped at a gargantuan mass of thick black clouds rolling in over the horizon, the Shadow Guard nowhere in sight, as if their dark pelts had vanished into the blackened sky. The wind howled. The sea stirred, and it suddenly grew too loud to think, let alone speak, as a wall of rain, hammering into their shale coast, rapidly approached.

"Get back to the tents!" Shacklebolt bellowed, straining to be heard over the cries of a panicked Order. Lupin was also tempted to run. But his instincts told him to remain. He caught McGonagall's eye and she nodded. They agreed. This was not a normal, Azkaban storm.

And before either could voice this disturbing reality, a mark, like that of dried reptile flesh stained into the black clouds. An immense glowing skull, a snake protruding from its mouth. Morsmordre. The Dark Mark. The symbol of Voldemort.


	10. Flight

Summary: There are no muggles in foxholes. An account of the 2nd great wizarding war, of battles still to be won, and the love of a young bookworm for the man, the cause, the friends and the life she was forced to abandon.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters, their world or their toys. And damn I'm tired…I'm going to bed now!

Sacred Bonds

By Rebecca

Flight

_"You're what?"_

_ "I'm going to find him," he repeated, not much caring about the gaping expression on Ernie's face as he turned and reached under his bunk. A small carpet bag lay backed up against the base of the headboard, and he pulled it out, dusting off cobwebs and tiny mites angrily crawling over its flowery pattern, shuddering reminders of how long he'd been on the base. How long he'd gone without seeing his wife. '5 months.' he thought, disgusted. 5 months since the victory celebration at Azkaban, a stolen night beneath the stars before she rejoined the march to Surrey. And almost 6 months before that! But he shook his head, chasing the thought away. That didn't matter now. Couldn't matter now. Because as long as it was since he'd seen Hermione, it was going on three years since anyone had seen Harry. _

_Harry Potter. From almost the instant Dumbledore was killed, Ron had heard Harry's name raised and hailed among a hierarchy of messianic legends on par with Merlin himself. The Scarred One, the Boy Who Lived, the Heir of Gryffindor. But to Ron, he would always just be Harry. His best mate. A bloody awful chess player who much preferred an afternoon of Quidditch at the Burrow to fulfilling duties prescribed in prophecy and bound by blood. Harry often longed for the anonymity Ron's family enjoyed, and it wasn't until the summer after his 5th year at Hogwarts that he finally understood why Harry hated…hated being famous. The price was simply too high. What he'd already endured...and what he must endure still. Ron never looked at his shabby second-hand possessions quite the same way after Sirius was killed. _

_"The Sentinels will tell us if—"_

_"Bollocks," Ron spat as he crammed various essentials into the carpet bag. Quills, ink, spare parchment, a few bags of floo powder. He strapped it all together and tied the leather straps with a swift tug. "They wouldn't say a damn word and you know it. Anything to keep the Order believing there's a chance in hell of defeating Voldemort."_

_"You don't believe that," Ernie folded his arms over his chest, trying hard not to contemplate the very real possibility that Ron might be right. "Your own brother—"_

_"My brother is doing his job," he finished with the straps and sheathed his wand. "And I have to do mine." He turned around and watched as Ernie struggled with indecision. As if the poor wizard knew that his was a role of almost spousal opposition here, but Ernie MacMillan just didn't have it in him. It didn't matter anyway. Ron's mind was made up. _

_Ron sighed and grabbed a heavy set of thestral reigns hanging on the tent wall and tossed them over. "Here," he said. "Take care of Chudley for me. And don't let that nutter girlfriend of yours ride him."_

_Ernie caught the reigns and ran his hand over its rusty buckles, chuckling in spite of himself. Ron always had been a bit peculiar about his pets. Chudley was no exception. _

_"You leaving right now then?" Ernie asked, not looking up. _

_Ron paused, about ready to mount his Cleansweep and fly right through Ernie if he had to, but he just sighed. "There's something I have to do first. After that, I'll go." Ernie's shoulders heaved, knowing full well what that implied. But he didn't object. Ron reached inside his jeans pocket and pulled out a small round coin. At first glance, it appeared to be an ordinary Galleon. But Ernie knew better. It was a DA coin, probably an original from the old days. Handed out in school to alert the first DA members of their meetings, the coins were now distributed to the leaders of each base. Ron extended his hand. "Good luck, Mac."_

_Ernie offered a weak smile. "You too."_

_"Take care of 'em." They shook hands and the coin shimmered, glowed brightly and then fell into Ernie's palm. Ernie nodded, and left the tent._

_Ron stared at the empty doorway and shoved both hands back in his pockets, wishing for mere seconds that Hermione were here to talk him out of it. 'Don't be stupid, Ron,' she'd say in that special way of hers that made him want to kiss her just to shut her up. But Hermione was still wrapping up her operation in Surrey. There had been no word from George or the others…and Ron was tired of waiting. _

_With a hint of resignation, as if it would be his last, he dropped his bag at the foot of his bunk and sat at the small wooden desk to compose the letter._

_**Dear Hermione,**_

_**This will probably be my last letter for a while. I wish there was more time to say all the things I need to say. You know I've always been a right idiot about that stuff. So I'll leave the fancy writing to prats like Krum.**_

_**Of course, a quick trip to the pub and enough pints of Goblin ale and I could spew enough sweet nothings to make Gilderoy Lockhart ill.**_

_Ron paused and considered scratching it out. But it might make her laugh. And the thought of her laughing was enough to move mountains. _

_**I love you. I always have. Married you and everything. But I can't just sit on my arse anymore. He's been gone too long. We both know it. And I have to find out why. I have to know he's alive. **_

_**I know you're angry. You should be. It's a bloody awful plan and I know it. But I never was the clever one. Just know that I love you. I love you, love you, love you and I'll be back as soon as I can. **_

_**Yours always,**_

_**Ron **_

_When Ron replaced the quill on the desk and sealed the letter, tears spilled down his freckled cheeks. There were no owls around. He would find one along the way. But he had to leave now before he changed his mind. Tucking the note in his breast pocket, close to a heart that hadn't ever ached so much in his life, Ron quietly slipped away and began his search for Harry._

He folded up the letter and returned it gingerly to his pocket, afraid if he handled it too long, it might completely crumble apart. Ron never did deliver the message. Hermione learned of Ron's disappearance the same way everyone else did: when Phoenix spies sent word that he'd been captured. It was just as well, really. Reading it now helped Ron remember things. Details about the camp. Spells he'd forgotten. The effects of the Cruciatus curse still weighed heavily on his jumbled mind, but slowly…very slowly, things had started piecing themselves together. He remembered where they had captured him. Just south of London, near Pirate's Creek. It had been raining…no, not raining. A dull mist, like the one that settled over the Enchanted Lake at Hogwarts every November. He'd been reading the letter then too. One last glance before he tied it to the baby owl he'd happened upon near the creek. Just before they grabbed him. Hello Weasel, long time no see.

Even now, Ron didn't know for sure who found him. The voice was certainly Goyle's, but he didn't act alone. Ron had taken on dozens of wizards, 4 or 5 at a time even. This was something else. Something sickeningly familiar. Buried memories poised just on the edge of recollection begging to be unearthed.

But not quite.

Not yet.

As if suddenly aware he was still a fugitive, Ron dusted himself off and straightened up, determined to press on until he simply couldn't walk anymore. _22...23...24... _ As ever, he continued counting, starting over each time he reached 100, trudging through an endless stretch of wood without any real idea of where he was or where he was headed. Had Ron been perfectly healed of course, he would have remembered to use the amplification charm to contact nearby Phoenix spies and apparate home. More importantly, he could've remembered how to apparate at all. Still, a single thought drove him forward, moved him past abandoned forts and scarred battlefields. Hermione. If he could just get home to Hermione...

_45...46...47...We can't have a baby...62...63...64...Ron, come home. It's Ginny._..

A dense haze had settled over the woods just after dawn, cascading over pines and rotting oaks, a fog rolling low to the ground as thick as the mess in his head. Hardly picturesque to be sure…but it should have tipped him off when he came upon the clearing, the massive forest surrounding him suddenly chopped short at the peek of a hill. A valley spread before him, bathed in sunshine.

Now Ron wasn't completely inept. Hours beforehand, he'd rested a few moments inside the hollowed shell of a fallen tree crawling with tiny larvae-like creatures fighting for space. Upon his tiny fire, he'd killed and cooked a rat and mixed it with nearby fungi roots and murky water squeezed from a nearly dried brook. So as he now gazed upon the vast landscape, brilliant in light and color, free of ugliness and despair, it was on a full stomach of rat soup and a cruel handle on reality that he emerged from the wall of trees into vast open land and stepped out onto a lush green carpet of grass.

Ron inhaled the scents of springtime, and he struggled to restrain his elation. Birds. Real birds. Chirping and singing to the melodies of a gentle breeze that grazed his bruised shoulder. A small stream, lovelier than Earth's bluest ocean traveled its happy path down from the forest atop the valley's other slope. It was a sliver of paradise, this place. Waterfalls of wildflowers cascaded over the hills, and Ron wondered for a moment if he had climbed Olypmus itself.

He knew it was too good to be true. He knew such places didn't exist anymore. He even knew...deep down, he would regret it. But he couldn't help imagining himself stretched out on his back, baking in the sun...with Hermione cuddled into the crook of his arm, reading beside the stream.

Suddenly, as if he could almost touch her brown bushy hair blowing in the wind, Ron launched himself into this slice of perfection, and nearly toppled down the slope.

Water! He could have fresh water, he thought happily and as eager as a 1st Year on Christmas morning. But the bliss didn't last. He never made it to the brook. 

At another time, Ron Weasley would have thought it a bit dodgy that he'd met opposition from Goyle and only one other guard since his escape. Just as he would have immediately noticed that the rushing stream below made no sound, and the environment's only visible evidence of wildlife had been the dead rat meat he'd brewed into his lunch. He would have recognized the patterns of the concealment charm and identified the façade immediately as a falsehood. But mostly, Ron would have remembered that the Dark Army rarely left key members of the Order—"Hello Ronald,"—in the hands of idiots.

He came to a dead halt, too tired for fear or regret. Ron simply turned…and sighed. "Bloody hell."

A slow smile curved across the sultry face of one Pansy Parkinson-Malfoy and two of her minions. Her black hair was not nearly as sleek and shiny as it had once been when she lived in splendor with her husband, exploiting muggle-borns in varying displays of farce and derision for their own perverted pleasure. But that sickening grin was unmistakable. It was Pansy, the wife of Ron's worst enemy. The woman whose husband he'd slain in battle. The one who had captured him in a fit of revenge...and brought him here to watch as Goyle slowly ripped him apart.

Pansy looked toward the sky, cackling like the Slytherin she was and circled her wand above her head. At once, gray clouds painted themselves across the sun. His soft stream, the stream he could picture Hermione so perfectly and peacefully beside, warped itself into the green and black moat bubbling around stone and iron spires that only seemed to touch the sky because the clouds hung so low. The façade had lifted. Ron glanced over his shoulder and gripped his stomach, nauseous as he beheld the magnificence of the Malfoy mansion, standing right where it had always been. Right where he never really left.

...

"Bring them about, Cho!" Wood screamed inside her head, the amplification charm barely finding its way across the violent winds. Cho veered Thunder off to the left and motioned for her group to follow. Several riders fell in line as ordered, but a few lost control of the reigns. Her stomach flipped over as she caught a peripheral glimpse of Lee Jordan blown clear off his horse. And before she could shift course to assist, the winds and clouds consumed him in a fog too thick to see the wand in her hand.

"_Lumos_!" she cried and a faint glow shown dimly through the mist. Not enough. She clenched her teeth together and forced herself to concentrate. "LUMOS SOLARUM!" And her wand shot out a brilliant ray of light, cutting through the clouds. She could see Lee now. He had levitated down to safety and was moving to rejoin his thestral. She barely had time for relief before another Guard member whipped by, so close that its wing clipped Thunder's and Cho was rocked upward. Holding tightly to the reigns, she yanked herself back to the saddle and pulled back. "Easy, easy boy," she soothed as best she could. But Thunder could tell she was scared.

Panicked, she shined her sunlit wand down to the shore. Hundreds of Order members were screaming, running from…nothing. As far as she could tell, there were no Death Eaters around. Usually the mark foretold of an invasion, an arrogant foreshadowing of the tyranny to which they were about to succumb. Even after three years, some Death Eaters were still too thick to realize that the mark merely gave away their position and only allowed the D.A. more time to prepare.

But this was something different. There were no cloaked figures moving in. Not even a stray hex or a green spark flying across the courtyard. Just an unbelievably violent storm. And the only way a mortal could conjure one of those would be if… "_Cho! Cho help!"…Cho blinked. Death Eaters approaching from all directions … closing in fast. "Cho!" she whirled around…Marietta…Marietta being dragged down Knockturn Alley. NO! she thought. She started after them, determined not to lose sight… They'd already taken her Aunt Emma. They would not get her best friend too. "I'm coming Mari!" … She raced toward the Death Eater dragging the terrified red-head behind him…"Mari! Fight him!" But Marietta Edgecombe had never been terribly clever…If she could just get in range..A little closer and—green sparks flew ahead of her and a deafening scream pierced through the abandoned alleyways of Hogsmeade. "Nooooooooooooooo! Mari!"…_

"_EXPECTO PATRONUM_!" she heard in the distance. Cho struggled to stay on her mount, but the vision was as dark and disorienting as the sky. _"EXPECTO PATRONUM_!" she heard again. And a glorious white lion charged from behind her, driving the dementor away.

"Cho, you all right?"

Cho shook her head and grasped her reigns, the leather now completely soaked through. Can't fall. Don't fall, Cho, she told herself as the dementor's effects started wearing off. She turned around and saw Oliver, treading unsteadily atop Beowulf in the air, his face as white as his patronus had been. "Y-yeah," she shouted, struggling once again to keep balanced. Oliver flew down to her level and grabbed Thunder's front harness. His control calmed the mount. Cho moaned.

"W-when uh," she stammered, determined to ignore the fact that this was the second time Wood had seen her lose control of her thestral, "when did the dementors learn to fly?"

Wood let go, hoping she'd steadied Thunder enough, and looked around. "I think they're using the winds. This storm is insane," he yelled. " The storm! Cho thought. Suddenly, she remembered. "Looks to be about 5 or 6 divisions. All dementor. Guess they're running out of Death Eaters—"

"It's a trick," she said quickly, confidently.

"What?" Oliver asked, trying to shield his eyes from the rain.

"A trick, Wood. The dementors. They're a diversion."

Wood cocked an eyebrow down at the commotion below. A couple dozen patronuses lighting up the fog as they charged their hooded foes. Screams. Chaos. And he was fairly certain a few unprepared souls had already been kissed. He looked back to Cho, "Er…well…it's working."

But she wasn't paying attention. Her eyes were fixed on the horizon. "Wood, you'd need a pretty powerful wizard to conjure up this storm, right?" Bolts of lighting struck close and Thunder shook beneath her as his namesake clapped loudly in the sky.

"Right," Wood answered impatiently.

"What else would you need?"

…

"The water!" Lupin yelled as he pushed his way into the wind of the storm. "EXPECTO PATRONUM!" he shouted at a nearby dementor honing in on Shacklebolt. The black hooded demons that once dominated this fortress swept right through Flitwick's invisible barriers and knocked down the Guard's charms. As far as Lupin could tell, the grim-reaper like figures had been sent from all directions but so far, there weren't many. His patronus swept one away and Lupin felt that brief moment of glory he did every time he faced the old guardians of Azkaban. For one moment, he could pretend he had avenged Sirius.

"Professor! The water!" he yelled, reaching McGonagall, who was busy fighting off her own dementor.

"Quite right, Remus," she yelled as a giant white feline emerged from her wand and freed Seamus near the prison ward. She turned back. "There aren't nearly enough dementors here to make a stand. They've gone under."

Seamus made his way up to the group, panting and soaked. But his eyes merely seethed with anger. "Simply corking of the Ministry to negotiate with the mermaids when they had the chance!"

"Not now, Mr. Finnigan," McGonagall waved her hands impatiently. "Whatever they're planning, I think it's obvious they don't have enough for a—"

"A fair fight, Professor?" Moody growled behind them. "No such thing when you deal with scum."

"Yes, thank you Alastor," she said with the same impatient wave. She surveyed the Order through the mist that thinned considerably once at ground level. "Seamus," she turned, "how many Unregistereds do we have with us today?"

Seamus ticked off the total in his head. "Almost all of them. 26 I think?"

"Any that fancy the sea, lad?" Moody winked his good eye, catching on.

Seamus grinned and pulled out his wand, tapping his throat. "Tonks you there?"

Nymphadora Tonks answered with a grunt, "A little busy, Finnigan. _EXPECTO PATRONUM!"_

"Nevermind that, now. Where are you?" he asked, scanning the crowd for her himself.

"I'm at the south end….of…the…" she trailed off. The witch sounded extremely weak.

Seamus panicked, finally catching sight of her cornered against one of Azkaban's few remaining walls. "Bollocks!" Seamus tapped his throat again, "Davies, Towler! Help Tonks, she's at the south end!"

The group watched as two wizards converged on the sight. Two patronus birds, one eagle and one hawk, shot out from their wands and drove away Tonks's dementor.

"Blimey!" she blurted out, unaware her voice was still amplified. Seamus shook his head, his ears ringing.

"Tonks, listen to me. We think the Death Eaters have gone under water and we need to find out why. Any on that team of yours who can handle it?" And Seamus swore he could hear her smile.

Tonks had spent virtually the entire war training her elite team for intelligence gathering and covert operations. A rare breed of witch, gifted with the ability to alter her appearance at will, Tonks had been the ideal candidate for the leader of the Unregistereds, an entire division of illegal animagi who were sent to spy in animal form on Voldemort's regime.

Inspired by his father's legendary band of Marauders, Harry Potter knew that animagi, witches and wizards who could transfigure themselves into animal form at will, could be pivotal to the Order in sending and retrieving information. 6 of Tonks's tiny birds migrated through the enchanted forest from Windsor and informed Arthur Weasley of the ambush at Hogsmeade. 3 black dogs ran cross country to warn the Ministry Conference of the Bristol council spy…and two of her team swam the Baltic to reach Madame Hooch before the Dark Army spread beyond Europe.

"Brilliantly, luv," she answered Seamus. "But unless you fancy scraping dolphin meat off the shore, we'll need a dive point further off the island."

The group collectively cringed at Tonks's off color remark while Seamus re-tapped the air with his wand.

"Wood, we need assistance at—"

"Way ahead of you, Finnigan."

They whirled around to find Wood and Cho hovering above them.

Seamus grinned. "Right then," he said, "we're a go."

...

"I've uh, never been good at this sort of thing!" Roger Davies yelled behind her over the whipping wind, still rocking the seas. His arms were wrapped tightly around her waste as Cho drove Thunder off shore.

At another time, in another life when Cho was a giggling schoolgirl, fawned over by every hapless bloke who owned a wand, Cho might have laughed at the irony of Roger's hold on her now. After all, she had used him to make Harry jealous at one point.

But the thought didn't even occur to her now as Thunder pumped his heavy, rain-soaked wings just above the ocean surface.

"What? Undersea intelligence?"

Roger shook his head, flinging his floppy drenched hair from his eyes. "No," he answered, "flying!"

"Don't worry Rog," she said, glancing to her right. Wood flew just ahead of her, sharing his saddle with Tonks and a second Unregistered, Jacob Smith. "We'll take care of you."

Roger gave her a squeeze in gratitude and gulped. Whatever the Death Eaters were up to, it was fair to assume it wasn't good, for the storm continued to worsen.

"This looks good!" Wood called out. Cho yanked on her reigns and Thunder neighed resentfully before they stopped to tread.

"Ready?" Wood asked, and Cho felt Roger repositioning himself behind her for the dive. He must have been scared because her poor thestral continued to fret. He jerked his head down, and Cho, still strapped tightly to the reigns, jerked with him.

"Easy!" she called again, and then she paused. Perhaps it was chance, or maybe the horse really did wield a magic beyond that of flight, but Thunder's fussing altered Cho's line of vision. And right before the Unregistereds jumped, she stopped them. "Wait!" she yelled. Cho lit her wand with the same sun spell as before and aimed her beam about 50 meters north.

Rain continued to hammer into their faces and she gulped away the wind, violently shaking her head as she strained to see what she'd sworn Thunder was showing her. But the storm had grown so brutal, one could almost see the wind lifting waves off the surface, crashing into protruding plateaus as if intent on tearing them apart.

Finally, her wand hit at the right angle, Cho knew she'd been right. "There!" she yelled and they turned. A whirlpool, about 12 or 13 meters in diameter swirling, almost hovering above the ocean's rolling surface. The place from which morsmordre was unearthed. She was sure of it. The whole ocean seemed to stink of blood and decay.

"Good eye, Chang!" Wood was saying as he moved their small contingent closer to the anomaly. Again, Roger shifted in the saddle and Cho looked to Beowulf and his passengers, watching Tonks pull a caretaker's whistle from her coat.

"Oi! Remember," she shouted, "just observe. Come back to the surface when you've found the target." She fiddled the whistle in front of her, "I'll be listening."

Cho strained a look behind her and watched as Roger nodded, extending his arms straight up in perfect formation. And even amidst the wicked tempest, Cho couldn't help but marvel at the sight of Roger and Jacob, her old classmates, descending in unison toward the vicious waves with swan-like graces, their animagi skins slipping over them like satin gloves. And before she could blink, Cho saw two radiant silver dolphins slide beneath the surface without even the smallest splash.

"Hope this doesn't take long, Tonks!" Wood yelled, turning his face into the wind, gulping down air as he spoke. "I don't know how long we can stay here!"

"No worries, luv," Tonks waved her hand as if she'd just sent her men to fetch her tea. But neither Cho nor Wood were fooled. Her hawk-like eyes were glued to the exact place they'd disappeared. For several minutes in fact, the three of them remained, steadily hovering above the water, waiting for the slightest indication that this off shore excursion would not end in the futile loss of Tonks's two best animagi.

Occasionally, Cho would catch stray communications being shuffled between wizards in the air. Partial phrases, cries for help. Through the storm, Cho could see Wood close his eyes and she knew he was also listening; thinking what everyone was thinking. It didn't matter how many or how few dementors her comrades faced in Azkaban. There simply wasn't enough true happiness left in the ranks of the Order. And eventually, the magnificent patronuses that soared through the courtyard when the mark first appeared would cease to be anything more than fading whispering echoes of themselves, ill-equipped to battle a boggart, let alone a dementor.

"Tonks!" Wood shouted, startling her from reflection. Cho looked over and saw Wood pointing toward the water. Jacob and Roger had returned, and were waiting for the signal to transform and regroup. Tonks blew a sea-shell flute from her whistle and for one fleeting instant, Cho wished for the storm to cease, if only to inhale the scents that could call a dolphin. Beowulf threw himself into a strop as Wood took them into a steep dive, Cho and Thunder close behind. By the time they reached sea level, the Unregistereds had transformed and were helped back into their saddles.

"D-death Eaters…" Roger shivered, hitching his damp coat up to his neck, "Three of them."

Wood almost looked disappointed as he scooted forward on Beowulf, letting his second passenger mount. "Three?"

Jacob wrung out the water from the hem of his trousers, steadying himself behind Tonks. "Just three, mate," he nodded. "And about 50 mermaids."

Cho groaned as her earlier suspicions were confirmed. Nothing except her unwavering trust in Professor Dumbledore convinced her that she had indeed been perfectly safe that afternoon during her fifth year when she was taken out of herbology and turned into bait for the second Goblet of Fire tournament task. Plunged into an un-wakeable sleep, she'd been strapped to the bottom of the enchanted lake, surrounded by mermaids who had agreed to watch for the right contestant to rescue her. Cedric…Cedric had come to rescue her…Cho hated mermaids.

"Looks like the bloody fish are controlling the storm," Jacob continued as Tonks handed him back his wand.

"Except for the few that are maintaining the bubble around Montague and his buddies. They're keeping the mark in the air." Roger went on, "It's one massive charade, Wood. The dark army doesn't know that practically the entire Order is gathered at Azkaban. Concealment charms prevent that. Buggers are probably hoping to scare us away so they can take it back with minimal troops."

Tonks nodded, almost disgusted, "A wicked storm, couple dementors, the dark mark?" She shook her head, "Almost worked didn't it?"

Wood whipped his head around and glared toward the sea. "Almost?" he growled.

...

Ron struggled in his petrified state, unable to move. It couldn't end like this. He didn't endure months of torture to be walloped by an over-dressed self-absorbed minx, thick enough to marry Malfoy. But he couldn't prevent it. The curse was iron clad. All he could do was watch...and endure.

"10 years, Weasley," she said with all the importance and arrogance that Goyle had been fond of flaunting. "10 years watching you and your little girlfriend and that Muggle-lover you all worship like a God, stepping all over my Draco." Ron nearly wished for just enough mobility to snort. My Draco? The wench wasn't fooling anybody. Draco had hated Pansy almost as much as he'd hated Harry. But that didn't seem to make a difference now. "You really think I would have left you in the hands of Gregory Goyle? Denied myself the pleasure of watching you writhe in pain and beg a Slytherin for mercy? Beg for your Mudblood?"

Ron felt himself splitting apart inside. If she kept this up, he might actually live to be the first wizard to ever break the Totalis curse with pure anger.

Pansy clicked her tongue against the roof her mouth, as if pondering what to have for supper that night. She paced around him just as Goyle had done, eyeing her thugs to make sure he was well-guarded. "Although I must commend you on your escape. Masterful Ronald, really. Moody trained you well."

Suddenly, she was beside him, crouched down near his ear. "Tell me, do all Muggle-lovers walk around the woods in circles for three days eating rats and lured in by charms even Longbottom could detect?"

Ron's mouth went dry. Three days? He'd been out here for three days already? That couldn't be right. She was lying. Lying to make him feel even more idiotic than he felt already. It was working.

Pansy gave a dramatic sigh and pushed herself off the ground. "Ah well. I had hoped to watch you go completely insane. Bring your crazed, babbling arse to the Mudblood's doorstep and watch as the mere sight of you drove her mad...but I'm bored with you now, Weasley."

She said it as if she'd grown tired of a book, and his stomach flipped over as he realized he was just as disposable to her. No, he screamed in his head, suddenly clearer than it had been since his escape. It couldn't end this way. Wouldn't end this way. Hermione, he thought desperately. I have to see Hermione! One more time...But he was out of moves. The match was over. Pansy raised her wand and aimed for his heart. And Ron closed his eyes.

_"AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

A brilliant green flash lit up the graying sky and a scream pierced through the air as the earth trembled beneath the most unforgivable of curses…and then all was still…and quiet. And Ron blinked, the Totalis curse lifted. He could move

…he was alive.

He struggled to push himself up, but managed only to twist himself around and gasp. Pansy's lifeless body lay in a heap on the ground, her bodyguards crumpled like over-stuffed rag dolls beside her. Surely it couldn't have backfired . She didn't cast it on herself. Pansy wasn't that thick—

And then he knew. Even before he could see, he knew. His eyes fell first on a man's silhouette behind a dying willow. His face was hidden, and he stood a good 20 meters away. But even after all this time, Ron recognized the stance. The resigned slump of the shoulders, the sweep of a hand through disheveled black hair, then a sign of nervousness, now just habit. The man walked towards him and Ron's eyes grew wide before they rolled back into his head, "Harry…"

...

_Mum?...M-mommy?...M-nooooooooooooooo!_ "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

_Is he…surely he isn't…h-he can't be…dead? _"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

_Seamus! Seamus help me!... _ "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

_Minerva…it's Albus_… "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

The echoes of terrors past rang louder than the screams below as they returned to shore, Wood careening his party down to the ground. The Order still held their ground fairly well. There were over 100 DA members fighting. Still, Cho felt her stomach tie itself in knots as her eyes fell on a dozen or so witches and wizards spread across the courtyard. Some had already suffered the dementor's kiss. Some just passed out, lying in puddles 2 inches deep. A sight hardly helpful to those who remained, conjuring patronuses bound with moments of complete happiness yet untainted.

Wood slowed the party to a trot upon the shale and dismounted, rushing past and ducking from dementors who at once glided toward fresh meat. Up ahead, through the ever persistent rain, Wood could see the head contingent, still at work. Still alive. Professor Lupin leading the charge.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" he heard Lupin yell. The professor turned, half expecting Wood to be another dementor and aimed his wand.

"Just me, Professor." Wood held his hands up in surrender.

Lupin lowered his wand, glancing behind him. McGonagall, Moody, Shacklebolt. They remained strong, firm. Determined not to succumb to despair. "So what is it Oliver?" he asked, only half paying attention.

"An ill-conceived ambush. A few death eaters teamed up with mermaids beneath the ocean." The stocky Scottish athlete looked around. "I can get my team in position, but we need a few of the DA on perimeter…and loads o' gillyweed. Where's Sprout?"

"Nevermind that now," Lupin coughed, his voice weakened.

Wood glanced behind the professor and withdrew his wand, "Expecto Patronum!" he yelled, but his white lion didn't fetch much happiness this time, and dissolved mere inches from the tip of his wand. Oliver's thoughts were far from happy at the moment. He took a deep breath and concentrated. 'We'd like you to be Captain of Puddlemere'…Captain of Puddlemere, he thought and he tried again. "EXPECTO PATRONUM!" he shouted. And the dementor retreated.

Lupin's hand splayed over his chest, catching his breath. "Thank you. Now help Flitwick near the—"

"Professor, we have to stop this storm!" Wood yelled in disbelief. As if the outcome of the entire war depended on it.

"Look around you Mr. Wood!" he shouted above the rain. And for the first time, Wood seemed to understand the severity of the Dark Army's plot. He glanced behind him. Roger, Jacob and Cho were busily attending to fallen wizards, fighting off dementors. It didn't matter how many or how few Death Eaters were behind it. There wasn't enough happiness left in their ranks to make a stand against the old Azkaban reapers. And caught all together, gathered in one place...Wood for a split second, begrudged an opportunity, forever lost, to tell Moody 'I told you so.'

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" he called out, joining in the fight, abandoning his plight to catch Montague and his friends. It didn't matter now. This was the end. And he would fight with the rest of them. Fight and die.

And about the time Wood and the rest were preparing to give up, Lupin looked toward the sky. Now...he thought...now, please...before it's too late...

For years and decades to come, many would argue about what exactly happened next. Some simply remembered the caw, gentle in tone and timbre but strong, almost deafening against the storm. Others swore by a symphony, harmonious melodies played on instruments unlike those in a normal orchestra, but pulled instead from the very sounds of nature...wind, thunder, rain, breath. But no one, not a single witch or wizard still standing in the end, disputed or denied its source. The storm may have camouflaged the dementors. But not even the darkest clouds could conceal Fawkes.

Albus Dumbledore's magnificent phoenix, the last of its kind in the wizarding world. Singing his phoenix song as he soared across ocean, unafraid of the hooded predators that had turned on him. Scarlett wings seemed to span miles, their golden tips glimmering even in the absence of sun. Time seemed to stop on the island as fatigued witches and wizards of the Order of the Phoenix suddenly remembered why they were here.

Who they were.

What they were called...

And as if rehearsed, a chorus of EXPECTO PATRONUM joined in with Fawkes's song as he circled the Order, gathering together every blinding white eagle, lion, dove, wolf and stallion that had been conjured, and charged the dementors from all sides. An army of patronuses fused with the power and love built and stored in Fawkes. A phoenix. The purest form of magic.


	11. The tide comes

Summary: There are no muggles in foxholes. An account of the 2nd great wizarding war, of battles still to be won, and the love that will lead them to the very end.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters. I don't own anything that I write…wow. How depressing.

Sacred Bonds

By Rebecca

The tide comes

Molly never did care for hospitals. She and Mr. Weasley had spent far too much time at St. Mungo's during the first war...to say nothing of the number of times she'd been called here in recent years.

But Voldemort himself couldn't keep Molly Weasley away from her little girl. The medi-witches and wizards practically begged for her to stay home, pleaded with her to accept the fact that Ginny's condition was worsening. Her mind continued to deteriorate under the effects of the liquid Cruciatus. The moods, the outbursts. Random sparks of green and orange that flittered about and around her. Clear signs of a witch or wizard gone mad.

But Molly was resolute. She would not let Ginny go on alone…especially today.

"No…" the girl moaned as she entered the little cell. "No…coming…they're all coming…have to see…"

"Who's coming dear?" Molly had asked politely as she set down various parcels and packages tied with brown paper and ribbon. Ginny hadn't had a single lucid thought since that fateful mission, but Molly always talked as if theirs was a perfectly normal conversation.

"Coming…have to see…more time…" Ginny rambled on, oblivious to her mother's presence. The room, set in the wing dubbed the "Hall of Madness" by the less tactful Alastor Moody types, was always clean and cheery, mostly through the efforts of Molly and a few of the hospital staff. Wizards did not clothe their victims in sterile white robes and lay them on iron-framed beds. Such tales from the muggle world were not only disturbing but utterly illogical. If a girl has the unfortunate luck to go mad, how is she ever to be cured if her only window to the world is through cold, iron bars? Ginny had a soft, plush four poster, a reading table, lamp and bright yellow curtains, brought from her own room back at the burrow. The pillows were always fluffed and the sheets always clean. Mrs. Weasley made sure of that. And today, the reading table would soon be full of Molly's most beloved delectable treats. Pumpkin tarts, apple strudels, mince pies and cakes. Homemade chocolate frogs charmed with extra bounce…all of which she knew would go uneaten.

Ginny continued to mumble as she stared through her tiny window, her hands tangled up in the red brittle stands of her hair which by now was quite long and untidy. Mrs. Weasley had given up grooming it. The girl didn't like to be touched.

"I've brought you some of your favorites today, dear," she said bravely, arranging the cakes and sweets on the table while her girl began to pace.

"Coming…" she said again, her hands fidgeting in front of her in neurotic little jerks and twitches as if she were performing complex mathematics in her head and had run out of fingers to count on.

Molly nodded, pretending she understood every word, and poured a tall clean glass of pumpkin juice. "There we are," she said as she set it on the table, completing the heartbreaking spread. She stepped back for a moment and admired her work before she turned to stare into a pair of black, empty eyes that never recognized her. "Happy birthday, Ginny."

A tear rolled down her cheek, a promise of more to follow as her girl remained by the window, eyes fixed on the horizon.

"Coming…" Ginny said a third time. "He's coming…have to see…"

It would be days before anyone realized what she meant.

...

It was dusk before she made her way back to the floo network. As she had expected, Ginny didn't eat any of her treats. Nor did she open the gift she'd brought from home. For a while, she just sat and watched as her daughter continued her inward struggle. Unable to break free of a curse that forever held her mind prisoner.

Slowly, she made her way back to the main building where the public fireplaces stood in a row, plenty of green powder ready to take the grieving and sorrowed back home.

"Molly! Molly!" she heard behind her, just as she were about to cast the flames. She could have apparated. The splinch barriers had been removed and replaced with alternative security charms for emergencies when the war began. But visiting Ginny was quite and ordeal. Floo powder was safer.

She turned and managed a weak smile as Madame Olivier ran to greet her. Constance Olivier was an old and dear friend and had lost _her_ husband in the first war. She had devoted her life to Mungo's ever since and had been a great source of comfort for Molly since Ginny's commitment. At the moment, it appeared Constance had very good news. Molly immediately dismissed the brief and cruel hope that a cure had been found for Ginny and turned to face her friend.

"Azkaban!" Constance managed, panting.

Molly held her breath. She had declined the call to assemble at the old prison. Like many seasoned veterans of the Order of the Phoenix, Molly felt her efforts were better served on the home front…here, with Ginny. None of the Mungo's staff had dared to disagree.

"Connie, what's happened?"

"We've held Azkaban!" the woman exclaimed, waving about an owl-posted parchment in the air. Her plump cheeks were flush with excitement, the long draping sleeves of her periwinkle robes flailing about. "We just confirmed it on the Granger map! The Order staved off the largest dementor invasion since Hogsmeade! Not a trace of them left!"

Molly smiled, her heart aching for a time when she would have heard such news from Arthur. "That's wonderful, Connie. Quite a victory."

Madame Olivier immediately recognized the mournful expression, and her smile faded as she touched her friend's shoulder. "Oh Molly," she said. "What a stupid old bat I am. You've just seen Ginny." It was a statement, not a question.

But Molly had to laugh, "Poppy-cock," she grinned. "I pity the poor soul who thinks Constance Olivier a stupid old bat."

"How is she?" she asked, needlessly. The answer never changed.

"Oh, you know how it is," Molly said quietly. "Forgive me Connie, I fear I've ruined your good spirits."

But Constance shook her head, remembering all too vividly how _she_ had reacted when that "little Potter boy" had bested Lord Voldemort over 20 years ago. If only her Thomas had lived to see it.

"Not at all," she nodded toward the fireplace. "Have a safe trip home."

Molly thanked her with a nod and threw the green powder into the hearth. "THE BURROW!" she shouted clearly, and in seconds, she was gone.

...

_Dark…keep it dark…not dark enough…if it's dark enough, he won't see…won't see me…him…light…too much light… "No! No! He's not dead! He's just behind the veil! Just behind the veil!...Sirius!"_

_ As if he'd been flung across the Great Hall, Harry felt himself shoved back in his chair, and a familiar coldness rushed over him as if he'd been drenched in icy mermaid water. "A whole hour, Potter," he heard Snape's voice somewhere in the distance, still finding his way back to Hogwarts. He never knew exactly where they went, him and Snape. Night after night without fail… even on weekends, spent in these dungeons. Training…if it could be called that. But he did know, without a doubt, he was failing._

_ "Another few months and you may yet impress me."_

_ "Sod off, Snape," Harry mumbled without hesitation. Snape had long since stopped reacting._

_ "Don't forget your essay," the Potions Master ordered as he closed the giant tome on his desk and retired through his chambers. Harry scoffed at his tutor's parting words. As if he would actually be writing 8 meters on the binding properties of leprechaun clover tonight. Slowly, he started down the hall, left alone to reflect on his progress, or lack thereof, in the art of occlumency. _

_ 'It is imperative that you continue your lessons with Snape, Harry,' Dumbledore had said. The end of his 5th year seemed an age ago but Harry was scarce two years older now than he'd been when he found out the truth about Voldemort: The truth about the prophecy that linked them together and the sickening reality that the whole thing could've have been so easily avoided._

_ The walk back to Gryffindor seemed longer since the old man's passing. And it was getting harder to hear the echoes of laughter that used to sound freely during his reign. The Wizarding World had entered a new era since the Day of Shadows, an era with an unlikely leader. A leader who, at the moment, wanted nothing more than to hop the Knight Bus and head back to his miserable life on Privett Drive._

_ "Password?" the fat lady asked quite coldly as he approached the entrance to the common room. Harry had been so dazed, he didn't remember climbing the moving staircases. _

_ "Hippogriff," he muttered. The painting swung open and he stepped inside._

_ As usual, a healthy fire was roaring in the Gryffindor common room, giving off every indication that young witches and wizards had been tossing floo powder into it all night, calling on loved ones, discussing the day. Harry sighed, remembering a time when kids couldn't wait to get back to Hogwarts and away from the under-age restrictions of a magical household. Suddenly, as was the case quite often, Harry Potter felt as old and worn as Minerva McGonagall. _

_ "Hullo, Harry," he heard, unsurprisingly, from the sofa. From the portrait, he could barely see the brown bushy top of Hermione's head. But he knew she was there. She always was. _

_ It didn't take long for them to settle into their routine positions. Hermione on one end of the couch, Harry on the other. Crookshanks purred soundly between them, blissfully unaware, or perhaps just uninterested in his human companions. An unfinished chess match lay on the table, the pieces had stopped screaming for Harry and Ron to finish it long ago. A gray sky was turning to night outside and save for Hermione's scribbling, the Gryffindor common room was quiet and subdued. Then again, that wasn't exactly unusual._

_ It was a few minutes before Hermione broke the silence. Only then did she look up from her studies, letting her quill dangle itself in the air, waiting for her to continue. "Was it very awful again?" she asked, not needing an answer. Harry nodded anyway and removed his glasses, pinching the ridge of his nose as the burning in his scar began to fade._

_ Hermione sighed, plucked her quill from the air and set it down on the table in front of her. The parchment on which she'd been writing was already several meters long, and it took a few moments to properly roll it. When she finished, she turned to face him, tucking her legs beneath her, hands folded in her lap._

_ And she waited. Harry was still cleaning his glasses, opting for the muggle handkerchief approach rather than his wand. After spending all night fighting metaphysical demons with Snape, his need for something tactile was acute. Finally, he replaced them on his nose and faced her. "What's that?" he nodded to the rolled up parchment. _

_She didn't bother to look down. "Homework." _

_He let out a snort. Only Hermione, he thought. Most of the 7th years were either legitimately exempt from their assignments now, or, as Seamus often boasted, never did them in the first place. But not Hermione. Even in the midst of impending war, she still found time to do her essays. Even Snape's. She was…remarkable.. For an instant, Harry envied Ron Weasley. _

_"Harry?" she said patiently, but her fidgeting hands gave her away. She had that familiar look of an eleven-year-old school girl, itching to give the right answer in class, if only someone would call on her. _

_"What?" he asked, hoping for once, she just wanted to talk about S.P.E.W. _

_ Hermione hesitated just long enough to be sure no one else was in the room before she continued. "Harry, you need a Secret Keeper."_

_ He sighed and shook his head, "Not tonight, Hermione. Please." _

_ "Now, just listen this time-"_

_ "I listen every time. The answer is still no." A foolish response. The word 'no' never _was_ enough for his friends._

_As if on cue, she huffed and crossed her arms. "Harry, why do you think Dumbledore told you about the prophecy?" _

_He shrugged, longing for the days when talk of prophecies and war hadn't yet replaced 'how was your day?' _

_"So you could prepare to fight Voldemort," she leaned forward, as if gearing up for battle herself. _

_But at the mention of Voldemort, Harry's scar began to prickle and instinctively, he shut his eyes, clinging to darkness, before he realized there was nothing…no one there…yet. He took a deep breath. "I am preparing," he said, the timber of his voice low and grave._

_"I know." She looked down. "But you said yourself you weren't getting any better._

_Harry's eyes narrowed. "Your point?" he snapped, his forehead getting hot. _

_She bit her lip, "Well if you really think occlumency isn't working-"_

_"Then what good would it do to have Secret Keeper?" he said. "He dreamwalks in my bloody brain, Hermione. Why the hell does it matter _where_ I am? He'll find me anyway!"_

_ Hermione was about to respond when the fat lady portrait swung shut and the exaggerated thump of a sneaker halted the conversation. _

_Harry launched off the sofa and whipped around, his wand already drawn with Mad-Eye Moody-like reflexes. But it was ridiculously obvious he didn't need them. A tall, not so lanky red-head, flushed and exhausted and clasping a worn Cleansweep, stood by the door. Ron sighed as he stepped toward Hermione, a half smirk, half frown playing across his face. It wasn't hard to figure out how much he'd heard._

_"So glad we had that little chat about Secret Keepers, luv," he said, good-naturedly, hoping to diffuse what was clearly threatening to blow. Hermione blushed a bit and changed subjects._

_"How was practice?"_

_He reached them, and leaned forward to kiss her on the forehead before rolling his eyes. "Bloody awful," he muttered, turning to Harry. "We're gonna need something stronger than brooms, mate," he said, pulling a cruddy, half-torn journal from his cloak. _

_"Ron!" Hermione couldn't help herself. The sight of a book, _any_ book, in such a sorry state was unnerving. _

_"Don't get all in a twist!" Ron shook the pages over the fire, a sad attempt to dry out the mud before he tossed it over to Harry who caught it and flipped through a few pages before he dropped it on the table. _

_"Not working then, is it?"_

_Ron ran his hand through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck. "Oh it's working. Dean's definitely catching on and Gin-" he stopped himself as Harry looked away. Ron cleared his throat. "Ginny's always been a good flyer," he finished._

_"Yes she has," Harry said simply, not looking up. _

_Ron's ears turned red but he moved passed it. "The problem is altitude. Zach's got a firebolt, and he barely touches 100 meters." _

_Harry sighed, rubbing his temples again. "I'll think of something. Just keep at it. I don't care about height yet. The Dementors can't fly anyway."_

_"Yeah well it's the sucking-out-your-soul part that's got everyone wonky. Ernie won't stop whining about it, stupid git."_

_"Ron!" Hermione snapped, a perfect imitation of Molly Weasley._

_Harry just shook his head. "Well, why should he?" he dropped his forehead in his hand and squinted. _

_Ron looked back and forth between them, searching for something to say. "Because I'm giving up some quality Exploding Snap time for this," he finally quipped, thrusting his broom forward, "that's why!"_

_Harry managed a chuckle before he sat back on the couch, the tattered journal in front of him overflowing with notes, strategies, battle plans. It was an unremarkable little book. Its spine and cover already faded, its pages a dirty yellow. But it was charmed to accept ink from only Harry's pen, and read only by DA members he granted access. "Recipes for victory," Ginny had said when she gave it to him, its pages still blank on his 17th birthday. He thought back to that day and remembered… _

_They'd pitched wizard tents that night, the kind he'd stayed in at The Quidditch World Cup. Pathetically unimpressive to the passing muggle, but spacious, luxurious and filled to the brim with gifts and laughter within. Luna had spent the entire night tormenting Ron, as usual. Hermione and Neville hard at work on some clever concoction of potions designed to shoot fireworks at night that only they could see. Ginny…quietly content to sit on the sofa, snuggled comfortably in the crook of his arm, laughing as his friends unleashed one crazy, completely useless gift after another, all undoubtedly bought at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. His backyard birthday party was the last time Harry could remember being truly happy…the next day he'd ended it with Ginny._

_"Harry?" he heard, ringing him out of the past. He looked up; Hermione had returned to the couch and Ron sat on the floor by her feet. _

_"Sorry," he mumbled, tearing his eyes away from the journal._

_ "Harry," Hermione started again. He looked up. It was the same expression. She had every intention of continuing their conversation. In thinking of Ginny, he'd almost forgotten… "About before-"_

_ "We've been over this. It won't make any difference." His was a true enough argument. A logical one, at least. But the last people to use the Fidelius charm to help save him were his parents and they were killed. Murdered. Protecting a life Harry never believed worth saving. He wouldn't let it happen again._

_"I know," she said, "That's what I'm trying to tell you-"_

_"Blimey!" Ron leaned forward. "Did she just actually admit she's wrong?"_

_She glared at him, but didn't respond. "I did think of that, and you're right. A basic Fidelius wouldn't help much against the dream-walking," she continued, suppressing a smile. "But what if there was a way to use the Fidelius to conceal your _mind _ from Voldemort? Block him for good."_

_Harry stared incredulously. "Right, then. You let me know how that works out."_

_"I'm serious! I've been reading up on ancient charms. Charms that were around when Hogwarts was founded," she reached for her satchel by the chair and hefted out a thick, red leather-bound book. "There are spells in here that could actually shield your mind-"_

_"Good Lord, woman!" Ron interjected. "What do you want to do, cut up his bloody brain?"_

_"For pity's sake, Ron! Let me finish!" she opened the book, turning back to Harry, "I'm talking about a spell. A founder's spell that we could combine with the Fidelius."_

_Ron backed away from the couch and leaned up against the table leg, facing them both. "Don't you think if that were possible, Dumbledore would have mentioned it?"_

_"Not if he thought I'd be any good at occlumency," Harry mumbled, staring at the book cover. Brilliance or Insanity? The history of the Hogwarts Founders. The title alone seemed oddly appropriate._

_Hermione frowned. "You _have_ improved, Harry. Don't let Snape make you think otherwise. This," she grasped the book and held it out to him, "could just…I don't know. Help you focus on…other things."_

_His eyes flared. "Other things?" he said, about ready to implode, "What other things?"_

_"Like how to actually defeat Voldemort!" she pleaded, shrinking back as Harry launched off the couch again._

_"What do you think I've _been_ doing? DA meetings? Dark arts? A bloody armada of shape-shifters-" he ticked them off on his fingers._

_"I know but-"_

_"Not to mention everything Hagrid left behind!"_

_Ron slowly rose from the floor, "She's not saying that you-"_

_ "Can't defeat Voldemort?" he swooped around on Ron like a hawk. "Of course she is, Ron! She's right!" The remark stunned them but Harry didn't notice. His head had started pounding and his blood began to boil. His mouth tasted of bile and ash, his hands… ice cold. 'No'…he thought clawing at his hair. Why hadn't he just gone up to bed? "Don't you get it? None of it matters!" he picked up his journal and shook it violently in front of him. "Bloody recipes for victory," he scoffed, flinging it toward the fire._

_"Harry, no!" Ron shouted, whipping out his wand, "Eronia exterminae!" he aimed and the fire blew out just before the book landed in the grate._

_"He's coming back and there's not a damn thing I can do about it." _

_ By now they were all on their feet again, Ron picking the journal out of the ashes, Hermione clutching Brilliance or Insanity to her chest, wondering for a moment which one she was. The threesome locked in a standstill, each seeming to sense that the next words spoken would be crucial. _

_After what seemed like an age, Hermione took a few cautious steps forward and swallowed hard. "You will defeat Voldemort, Harry," she whispered, "You know you will." _

_Harry winced, his eyes stinging…burning with unshed tears. Why couldn't they understand? Why couldn't they see? Slowly, he looked up, staring right into her eyes… and then the hissing began. _

_Quiet and seductive, slithering along his spine. 'Kill'…it sang its siren's song... 'Kill… She's weak. She doesn't understand…Kill her!'_

_"NO!" he screamed, whirling himself away from Hermione. "Leave me alone!"_

_At first, she misunderstood and tried to follow, "Harry-"_

_But Ron struck out his arm and held her back. She looked up, the change in her beau's expression hard to stomach when just moments ago it had still been one of forced optimism and Weasley charm. This was the look of a well-trained soldier. A true right-hand man…whose captain had just become the threat. _

_Harry was clawing at his hair, eyes slammed shut. 'Dark'…he thought …'keep it dark…he can't see in here if it's dark.' _

_Ron kept Hermione behind him and ushered her over to the dormitory stairs. In his haste he knocked over the cleansweep he'd leaned against the fireplace. Thinking quickly, he reached down and grabbed it. "Harry," he said, and he threw the broom. _

_Harry caught it so hard it practically snapped in his grasp, all the while cringing as the voice continued to sing. …'kill him now and the pain will stop'…'dark, keep it dark'…'kill him now and you can see your parents again.'_

_Agony swept through and crushed his heart as Voldemort once again dug himself into Harry's deepest desires. There was no earthly or wizardly reason he should believe it possible to see James and Lily Potter again, least of all through the generosity of their killer. But the heir of Slytherin was a master of deception and Harry knew all too well just how far Voldemort could go to destroy him. It was a fear that haunted him ever since Sirius's death. Once inside, Voldemort was capable of almost anything…It was time to leave._

_He ran to the window and mounted the broom, the chill of early March barely dampening the fire inside him. He was about to push off…and then he stopped. "Hermione," he rasped, twisting around, still clutching the broom._

_ They stopped half way up the stairs and she turned, freckles standing out against her frighteningly pale skin. He didn't blame her. It had been a long time since it was this bad. His hand came to his scar, Voldemort's presence so strong now, the mark glowed green. He nodded at her book, still clasped tightly to her breast. "Whatever you're going to do…do it fast." And before she could answer, Harry launched himself into the night…to fight his demons alone… _

"Good. Let me know when the others arrive. I'll only be a day behind."

Lupin nodded, "How is Mr. Weasley?"

Harry glanced back at the man sleeping beside the fire. "He's fine. Get word to his mother that he's safe, but no one else."

"What about-"

"_No one_ else," he stressed, meaningfully. "You can't reach her right now anyway. She's in hiding." A weak explanation. If it concerned her lost husband, she would make herself found.

"She deserves to know, Harry."

"And she will, when he shows up on her doorstep. Until then, don't give her a reason to resurface. Not until that baby is born and bound to the Fidelius charm."

Lupin nodded with the slightest of smiles. "Very well. Anything else?"

"No, I'll see you in a few days. It'll be light soon."

"Then I'll leave you to rest. Be safe, Harry."

Harry didn't answer, just closed his eyes, and Remus's image faded from the flames. Sitting alone once more, he stoked the fire, stirred his small cauldron and then crossed the campsite to the plush purple sleeping bag wrapped around his oldest friend. Slowly, he sank down to the tree stump a few feet away, prepared to spend another nightly vigil watching Ron's chest rise and fall in frighteningly painful breaths. But the red-head suddenly moaned and rolled to his side, and Harry barely had time to swing his feet out of the way before his friend vomited days worth of undigested rat meat onto the forest floor.

For several minutes, Harry just watched as Ron coughed and hacked his way back to consciousness, unaffected by the foul stench. Finally, with what seemed like an extraordinary amount of effort, Ron anchored his hands beneath him and pushed himself up from the sleeping bag. Dazed, half-slumped on the ground, he blinked a few times, smacking his lips together and finally awakened. "Bloody hell," he said. And he looked up.

Harry looked as if he'd simply been waiting for Ron to tie his shoe. "The idiot lives," he said steadily as Ron's eyes came into focus.

He coughed, "Harry…"

But he put his hand up and shook his head. "Don't," he said. "Save your strength."

Ron winced as he ruffled his hands through his hair, pausing to rub his aching forehead.

The gesture sparked something inside Harry, and absently, he reached up and touched the old scar. The lighting-shaped mark on his forehead that hadn't burned in years. He leaned toward the simmering cauldron, and served up a steaming cup of stew. "Drink first," he handed it over. "You haven't talked in days."

Ron took it, and tried to wash away the bitter taste of bile from his mouth. "Thanks."

Harry didn't answer. Instead, he pulled a crumpled piece of parchment from his cloak and held it out just far enough to see. Ron looked up as Harry's eyes narrowed, "you were right you know." He tossed it on the ground. "It _was_ a bloody awful plan."

Ron recognized it immediately. His letter. _Her _letter. The one that never made it to Hermione.

"What were you thinking?"

"I wasn't," Ron snatched it off the ground and shoved it in his pocket. He looked up, "Where've you been, Harry?"

"I've been…around," he replied, but did not elaborate.

Ron's jaw dropped. "_Around?_" he said, wondering if he'd heard right. "You've been gone for 3 years!"

But Harry still said nothing as he reached for his satchel, grabbed some old cloth, and covered up the area where Ron had vomited. Casually, he waved his hand over the cloth and retrieved it. The mess was gone…it would be days before Ron realized Harry hadn't used a wand. "Can you stand?" he asked, turning back to the fire.

Still reeling from Harry's odd remark, and positive that the Cruciatus must still be playing tricks on him, Ron let the matter drop and rubbed his thighs. "I think so."

Harry rose and extended his arm. Slowly, Ron reached forward. Every muscle ached and the mere thought of taxing them further hurt almost as much as the action itself. But he scooted forward and clasped his hand …and something happened, that in years to come, he would never be able to fully explain.

Harry's iron-clad grip stopped him cold and for a moment, a curious prickling sensation lingered in their grasp. Waiting…thinking…assessing. Then all at once, it spread like wild fire through his entire body, seeking wounds, unearthing old scars, digging up months worth of physical and mental damage…and it hurt. With injuries and bruises so severe, it was as if the Cruciatus had lodged itself deep inside of him and whatever Harry was doing felt nothing short of taking a pick-axe to his soul and hacking the infection away.

Harry stood firm, and flinched not once as his friend cried out in agony. He closed his eyes, feeling his way around, waiting for the last bitter remains of an unmentionable curse to break away. And then he paused. Something else. Someone...else…Harry's eyes flew open and immediately, he snatched his hand away. _Bloody hell, what did she do?_

Ron staggered back, bracing his hands on his knees in an effort not to completely topple over. His initial instinct was to turn and run. Who _was_ this man? What had he become? And then suddenly, it was perfectly clear. Slowly, he straightened up. The pain in his head, neck, shoulders, stomach…vanished. The voices had stopped. For the first time in almost a year, Ron felt whole.

He looked at Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived, a boy no more. His childhood friend…gone. "You found it," he said quietly. In awe. In fear.

Harry nodded. "Yeah," he said without a smile. "I found it."

...

Molly was certain when she landed in her fireplace that she had left the hatch locked. After the Bones family massacre, the DA was forced to devise ways of closing off the floo network to unwelcome visitors. But as she traveled through the network of green flames, approaching the Burrow gate, the charm she threw to unlock the opening dissipated without impact and she slid right into her home. Someone was here.

Her first thought was to get right back in the fireplace and rush to Hogwarts. But she dismissed it immediately. Most likely, she thought, she'd been dreading the Mungo's visit so much, she'd simply forgot. "Stupid old ninny," she muttered to herself as she turned the corner to check on her knitting. She'd left a scarf going before she left – a present for one of her sons that still remained. And before she could stop herself from thinking of Percy and Ron, someone tapped her shoulder and she jumped up and screamed.

"Jimminy Cricket!" she yelped, whipping around, her wand already poised for attack. Instant relief followed as she beheld a startled Remus Lupin, hands up in surrender, a half-smile playing on his face.

"Easy, Molly," he chuckled, "It's just me."

"My _word, _Remus. I should turn you to a toad!"

Then he outright laughed, "A decided improvement for me, Molly. I'm sorry I startled you."

At last, she sighed and lowered her wand, still tempted to give him a good whipping. The kids may look to him as worldly wise, but once upon a very long time ago, she remembered a timid first year who often sought out Arthur for help in charms. "I hear congratulations are in order," she said.

For a second, Remus seemed confused. Then he understood. She will of course have heard about the victory at Azkaban by now. "Yes, it was quite something. I wish you could have seen it."

Molly waved her hand dismissively, "Yes well…what can I do for you Remus?" She plucked her needles from the air and sat at the kitchen table, waiting for the other shoe to drop. After all, in 3 years, people rarely came to Molly Weasley with good news.

Slowly, Remus too pulled out a chair and sat beside her. There was something absolute in his presence here, and it bothered her. If he had something to say, just say it. Who was it this time? Bill? Charlie? Finally, she gathered enough courage to meet his eyes, bracing herself for the worst…and then he smiled.

"Molly," he said quietly, covering her hand with his, giving her wrist a tiny squeeze. She held her breath. "We've found Ron."

She blinked once. Twice. And continued to hold her breath. There must be a catch. There was always a catch. Slowly she sank back in her chair, needles forgotten. "Oh Remus," she said, daring to hope. "Are you sure?"

Lupin leaned forward, his next words barely audible. "He's with Harry."

And at last, Molly smiled through bleary eyes. Tears trickled down her plump cheeks, resting in the crevices of her grin as she whispered, "Well, of course he is." And before either could say another word, a knock came at the door.

Molly jumped out of her seat, as did Lupin, equally startled. "Goodness! Is that him?"

Lupin chuckled, "I hardly think so. They're still a few days out."

Molly ran to the wooden door of their tiny cottage, finally allowing herself to think how wonderful it would be when the war was over, and those who were left could still call it home. She flew open the door, still half -expecting it to be Ron himself. It wasn't.

"H-hello Mrs. Weasley."

Lupin rounded the corner, his keen sense of atmosphere highly peeked as there once again seemed to be tension in the air. He reached the door, and stopped cold. A young man stood in the doorway. Dark circles under his eyes. Scruffy, unshaven…and holding a baby.

"Neville," Lupin said quietly, afraid to ask the obvious question.

Neville's eyes were blood-shot, the baby squirming in his arms as he stepped over the threshold, and held the child out to its grandmother. "She was right," he said without feeling. "It's a boy."

Molly, scooped up the child out of habit and pressed him close to her chest. "Neville," she gulped, as the little boy settled into her arms. "Where's Hermione?"

They waited an eternity for an answer. As if not speaking the words might prolong the inevitable. But it was no use. He sighed, looking only at the baby. "She won't wake up."


	12. In the interim

**Summary:** Hermione is having a baby, Ron is a POW and Harry is...missing. An account of the 2nd great wizarding war, of battles still to be won, and the love of a young bookworm for the man, the cause, the friends and the life she was forced to abandon.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters, their world or their toys. I think if I did, I'd probably be able to afford a BETTER COMPUTER!

Sacred Bonds

By Rebecca

In the interim

_Green flames long extinguished, a young man stood before a hollowed tree, shrouded beneath its hanging branches as he waited for sunset. Inside lay gifts of gratitude sent from Hogwarts with the highest regard. Gifts he was to deliver before his final trek began. But he must be careful. He must not appear hasty or alert. For this was not their way. The tiny Kenyah village on the island of Borneo had seen little of the wizarding ways. Only two or three young muggle-borns in the past 70 years, according to Remus Lupin. But after his 3-year stay of sanctuary with the tribe, he'd quickly deduced this was not for a lack of talent or potential in the culture, but rather a lack of necessity. They were a simple people. Farmers. Artists. Trained in spectacular methods of meditation designed to bring one closer to nature's own magics without resorting to the uses of tricks and wands. It had been ideal for his task. Essential to his mission. But no more. He had but one last task. The word had been given. It was time to return._

…

Neville called him Arthur. "It was what she wanted," he'd said before they left. Mrs. Weasley hadn't returned with them to the cottage. Dulled by her already exhausting morning with Ginny, followed by the emotional whirlwind of news at her front door, Molly had opted to remain home with the baby, begrudging an opportunity, forever lost, to welcome her new grandson into the world the way a grandmother deserved to.

Besides, as Lupin had suspected, the sight was perhaps a bit much for the woman to bear. Hermione had been unconscious and unresponsive for days since the birth of her son. She lay on her old four-poster, comatose. Freckles standing out on her cheeks, her brown bushy hair wildly untamed and matted down against a sweat-stained pillow. A number of odd muggle-looking objects lay around and about the floor and Lupin clumsily kicked a few over as he stumbled forward to see what was left of a brilliant witch.

"Muggles use them to prevent atrophy," Neville said quietly, picking up the instruments and setting them gingerly beside the bed, a few green sparks sputtering out of them as they touched the floor. Lupin frowned. It was obvious these tools had been charmed to work on Hermione while Neville watched over the newborn. A quick glance around the rest of the room revealed feeding tubes, torn pages from biology texts he'd never seen before, an odd, misshapen green-speckled crib clumsily transfigured out of the kitchen table, baby bottles, formulas, not to mention one of the fiercest shielding spells Lupin had ever seen, encircling the entire cabin in a ring of hexes and booby-traps, enforced with a hint of dark magic to keep even well-intentioned folk away. 7 days he'd said? She'd been like this for 7 days? He'd lived like this for 7 days?

_"Finite,_" Neville said quietly, his wand extended toward the door as he dispersed a bit of the shield after he was satisfied the room had gone untouched in his absence. When he'd left, Hermione was still protected under the Fidelius charm. But he knew as soon as he revealed to Lupin where she was, the spell would be broken. A concern, perhaps, that had kept young Longbottom from coming forward sooner. But Lupin suspected a long and tiresome refusal to surrender was a more likely explanation. The boy had clearly exhausted every resource in trying to wake her. She was simply…gone.

"I've tried everything, Professor," he whispered without even a hint of hope.

Remus stepped forward and beheld the sleeping witch. It was remarkable. And utterly alarming. Witches and wizards didn't slip into comas. Not once had a case been documented, Lupin knew that for sure. The extra bit of mind power required to do magic, prevented that unresponsive state to which so many muggles succumbed after a trauma. The closest anyone came in the wizarding world to complete and total loss of consciousness was petrification at the hands of a bassilisk. But Hermione was clearly not petrified.

"She's breathing on her own, her heart is beating," Neville was saying as he watched over her, "she's just sleeping…but she won't wake up."

"You said she did briefly though, yes?" Lupin said, turning over the girl's wrist to find her pulse.

"For a few minutes," he answered, shaking his head. "But she was…disoriented. Kept mumbling about a spell, or something she needed to tell Ron…as soon as Arthur was born, she was gone again," there was a hitch in his voice. A faint trace of that trademark Longbottom whimper, before he finished, "She never came back."

"Something she needed to tell Ron," Lupin repeated in a whisper, withdrawing from the bed. He stepped toward the bookcase. Hermione's texts still lay open on the floor. He bent down and picked one up, his heart aching as he read those damning words, _The dangers of dream-walking. _"Do you think she made a connection then?" he asked, flipping through it. Neville had told him everything on the way over, sparing Mrs. Weasley the details about Hermione's failed attempt to save her husband. In a quite cowardly fashion, Neville hadn't wanted to reveal to Molly just yet that it was _he_ who allowed Hermione to attempt such a dangerous feat. First Ginny…and now Hermione. Neville could barely look the old dear in the eye.

"I don't know," he shook his head. "I suppose it's possible, but she was out for three full hours before she re-emerged. And then Arthur was born…" he trailed off.

"Curious," Lupin murmured, flipping through a few more texts. "I think it's safe to assume her dream-walking somehow caused the coma. Whatever she did," he paused, looking back at the sleeping girl, "something went wrong."

A violent thump redirected his gaze toward the other end of the cottage. Neville had collapsed into one of the kitchen chairs, his head hung low. "It was my fault."

Lupin closed the book. "You know that's not true, Mr. Longbottom."

"Yes it is," he looked up through blood-shot eyes, but not at Lupin. His gaze was fixed on Hermione. "S-she wanted me to be her anchor. Keep her tied to…to this world…and I couldn't."

"Neville-"

"I _wouldn't, _Professor. I-I was afraid for her…didn't want her to go. So s-she…she did it without me." Tears spilled down his already puffy face. And Lupin fought hard to maintain his patience. It was clear Neville had been living with this alone for far too long, and perhaps felt justifiably defeated. But this information was new…and critical.

"What are you saying? You mean she had no lifeline when she did this?" Neville shook his head, sniffling. "She attempted a dream-walk without an anchor?"

This time Neville looked up. Lupin's tone was changed. Urgent. "Yes."

Lupin closed his eyes, afraid to consider the possibility. But he could find no other explanation. He looked back at the bed and sighed. "Then it would seem Miss Granger is not _gone_ at all," he said, the wind picking up outside, blowing wildly through the open window with an ominous sense of timing, as Hermione slept on. "She is lost."

...

_The girl's pale blonde hair glistened in the rising moonlight as she stood at the peak of the __Ponte Rialto bridge. Dusk had finally fallen, and the melody of a gentle fiddle could be heard in the distance as local vendors emerged with the evening's selection of fine jewelry, linens and tinted glass. In her hands, one such glass of an aged Venice wine would be her last in this place. Her few possessions had been packed that morning and she had long since said her good-byes to the families with which she had stayed these previous years. _

_She was reluctant to go. So much more to learn. To see. The heart of the early Italian Renaissance, Venice had attracted hundreds of famous witches and wizards. Pietro Aretino, Titian and DaVinci. She'd fed her mind with stories of legends and tales of kings. But her work here was done. The spell had been lifted. She raised her glass in silence, drinking to a city and its people for their help as the final rays of the sun disappeared beneath the river and she turned to begin her quest home._

...

"Montague is asking for asylum."

Seamus turned around, the ink on his quill drying mid-stroke. "What?"

Wood sighed and shook his head, dropping his satchel inside the tent, setting one foot atop a small supply crate and leaned forward. "You heard right. Asylum. Little bugger is claiming the _Imperius_ curse."

Seamus rolled his eyes. "Of course he is. Bastards don't even know how to lose." He turned back to his parchment, intent on completing the report before dawn.

"Yeah, but they sure know how to lie," Wood dug into his pocket. "Oi," he said, "you better look at this."

Seamus sighed, finally replacing the quill in the ink well before he turned again. Wood presented the token. It was a Galleon. One of the original few charmed by the DA. And it was still glowing. He reached forward as Wood dropped it in his hand. "Montague says it's Dean's."

Seamus's eyes flew up. "That's impossible." He turned the coin over in his hand, its glow faint and dull, as if it had been lit for some time, waiting for its owner to answer the call.

"Said he picked it off his rotting corpse," Wood spat with disgust. "That's a quote."

Seamus clenched it tightly in his fist. In a split second, a million thoughts invaded his mind. What would he tell Lavender? What would he tell Mrs. Thomas or his brothers? Muggles? How could they even understand? But just as quickly, Seamus dismissed it and shook his head. "No," he said, un-sheathing his wand. "I'm sorry, _I_ don't even know where Dean is. How could they?" he looked up. Wood shrugged.

Seamus cleared some space on the table in front of him and nodded to Wood. "Here help me."

Wood crossed the tent, pulling out his own wand, and the two sat facing each other and conjured the Granger Map. The wizard world stretched before them, gold threads still weaving their way across the shores of Azkaban, reinforcing borders and illustrating triumphs. To date, there were only a few black strands left. But Seamus didn't have time to revel in victory. Gently, he tapped his own coin and let it hover. Tiny orange sparks flew out from the map, pulling the coin toward the Azkaban fort. "Ok, that's me," he said more to himself than to Wood. Slowly, as if afraid to find out the answer, he tapped the other one and waited. Sparks flew out once again and pulled the second coin toward—

"Hogsmeade," Wood said quietly, slumping back in his chair. "Padma."

Seamus closed his eyes. "I guess we know why she never made it back here."

Wood slammed his fist into the table, rupturing the Granger map before it disintegrated. "Guess the ingrates think Dean Thomas's head on a platter makes for a better story." Seamus shuddered at the words, but it was true. It was how the Dark Army had always operated. It wasn't enough for them to tout their arrogant horns. Now Oliver and Seamus were left not only to mourn the loss of Padma, but forced to feel _relieved_ that it hadn't been Dean. And unfortunately for Seamus Finnigan, relief was the more prominent emotion…and that just made him sick.

"Have Kingsley start a search for her mother. She never made it back here either." He paused and swallowed hard. "I'll tell Parvati."

Wood nodded, grateful not to have been charged with the latter task. Early on in the war, the Shadow Guard was often asked to do aerial sweeps of silent battlefields, searching for survivors, wounded, dead. Wood had lost count of how many painful owl posts he'd scribed, informing loved ones of sons and daughters who wouldn't be coming home. He was grateful for the present reprieve. Silently, he bowed out of the tent.

Seamus placed the coin on the table. Their victory at Azkaban seemed suddenly hollow. He just sat, staring a bit longer before he gingerly tapped the tip of his wand to a once shiny surface and whispered, "_Nox._" Slowly, the Galleon's magic glow faded away, its last call to arms forever unheeded by another fallen member of Dumbledore's Army.

...

Cho was standing right outside the tent as Wood emerged from its tattered flaps. She hadn't known Dean very well. They'd both been members of the original DA and had fought side by side with Harry on the Day of Shadows, but apart from intense training and a shared sense of loyalty to the Order, they'd had little in common. But Cho knew, like the rest of the DA, that Dean Thomas was somehow critical to the cause. Whatever stage had been set, whatever plans were in motion, the reason for his and the others' disappearance, Dean was a crucial player. If he'd been killed, it would surely be a massive blow to the side of Good in their world.

Montague and the others hadn't had time to retreat from the waters once the dementors were driven out. It had been fairly easy to return to the original conjuring site and apprehend them with Tonk's help. An added bonus to an already glorious triumph for the Order.

But when Montague coughed up the charmed Galleon in the middle of Wood's interrogation and jovially boasted his conquest for all to hear before he unceremoniously begged for asylum, Cho's stomach lurched, and the discomforting ache she felt as a result had been bitterly climbing to the bottom of her throat ever since.

"Well?" she asked, trying to conceal her panic.

Wood stopped mid-stride as if he hadn't expected…hadn't wanted her to be there. "Umm…" he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's not Dean."

Cho let out a sigh too big for her lungs and her shoulders sagged. "Good," she managed before he finished.

"It's Padma."

Cho blinked, dumbfounded. For seconds, it seemed her mind simply wouldn't process the information. But Oliver's stone-faced expression confirmed it. Padma Patel. "Oh no," she whispered, her bottom lip starting to tremble. First her aunt, then Marietta. And now one of the twins. She thought then of Parvati, who not 3 days beforehand had helped Cho recover from her accident. Who would tell her? Did she already know? Her questions went un-asked. The answers didn't matter. She just stood there, watching the night breeze dust shale upon the old prison shores. She looked up…and Oliver was staring at her.

Her breath hitched in her throat as his eyes, intense and unwavering, remained fixed on hers. Cho shivered, her breath crystallizing in faint clouds around her. _Hold me,_ she thought before she could stop herself, her shoulders hunched, her arms tight around her waist. _Just once…_

The girl's overwhelming need for comfort had outgrown the hardened façade she'd built around herself. And there was nothing subtle in her silent plea. Wood shifted his weight uncomfortably. It was hardly too much to ask was it not? A bit of grief shared over a fallen comrade? Finally, he stepped forward. "I'm sorry, Cho," he said quickly…and walked away.

...

_His red hair was much longer now than his brother's. In fact, the resemblance had all but vanished in the passing years. A stockier build, darkened skin, and hair nearly bleached in the Central Park sun. The wizarding world didn't hear much from the Americans anymore. The few dozen letters delivered to muggle-borns each year went ignored and unanswered. But he'd never had to look much farther than that which the fascinatingly bizarre locals referred to as 'The Big Apple' for his hidden kin-folk. Known in his youth as a most resourceful class clown, the now loyal soldier had carried out his mission in the cleverest of ways. Inspired by some truly unique wizard colleagues hidden among the inhabitants of the railways cars, park benches and taxi cabs, he'd also taken to the streets, quietly working his own magic on the unfortunate and the elite of New York City. _

_There was much he could do he discovered, in support of his mission, that easily satisfied his own appetite for adventure. Hapless blokes shamelessly oblivious to the dangers of night, trying to snog their ladies atop Belvedere Castle; by far, these were the most entertaining of chaps. Thanks to him, many now happy couples would never know the trauma of a good ol' fashion Manhattan pick-pocket…and much of the Burrow's ganglands might think twice before it attacked the helpless again as tales of vanishing hand-guns and flying dumpsters spread through the city's infamous underworld._

_The sun was rising now, cresting just above the center spire of Lady Liberty's crown. A magnificent sight even he could appreciate. But he would be leaving soon. Task completed. Mission accomplished. His blood calling him home._

"Er, Harry?" Ron asked, somewhat bewildered. "Where are we going?"

"Back to Azkaban," he answered quickly.

But Ron wasn't fooled. No longer suffering long-term effects of Cruciatus, he knew for a fact, they were following the wrong path. "Then why are we headed east?"

In front of him, Ron saw Harry's shoulders slump with a frustrated sigh. He turned, and faced his friend, "Rescuing you wasn't part of the original plan. There's something we need to do first, and then we're going to Azkaban."

Ron was silent for only a few moments. "What is it?"

Harry stopped, "Bloody hell, Ron." He turned around expecting Ron to shrink back and simply acquiesce.

But Ron crossed his arms, "You know, once upon a time, you trusted me, mate."

"Yes, and as I recall, the plan was for you and Hermione to hold down the fort and wait for me to come back-"

"THREE YEARS, Harry," Ron thrust as many fingers forward as if talking to a toddler. "I had to know. We _all_ needed to know."

"_You_ should have trusted _me_. If something had happened, you would've been told. Lupin was my Secret Keeper."

Ron gasped. "Your…"

Harry spun on his heels and continued his quest east.

"You _swore_ you'd never have a Secret Keeper! Swore on your parents' bloody _graves _you'd never do that! It never even occurred to me-"

"I know, Ron. It was a _secret_, remember?"

"Harry!"

Harry stopped again and sighed, his patience ebbing away faster than even the old man had predicted it would. "Lupin insisted it was a necessary part of the Sentinel enchantment. Someone on the outside of the spell needed to be aware of my physical location so it would be easy to call them back if something went wrong."

Ron stood, dumbfounded. The whole thing made perfect sense of course. It probably _should _have occurred to him at some point. But this realization didn't subdue his anger. It fact, it worsened. "Harry…" he started slowly, mindful of the man that stood before him, more than aware their friendship was now merely a shadow of what it had been before he left. He was changed, anyone could see that. And in the grand scheme of things, this was probably for the best since Voldemort still lived. But he hadn't spent the last three years as Harry Potter's right arm only to amputated. He took a deep breath. "Where did you go?"

Harry cast a look around. There was no real reason Ron couldn't be told. The benefits of secrecy ended when Harry re-emerged and called the Sentinels back. And even without the use of the wands that linked them, Voldemort probably already knew something had changed. But for this reason alone, time was precious. The fabrics of magic that were open to him now would not remain that way for long. This was his destiny, and destiny would not wait for Harry to give Ron an admittedly deserved explanation of everything that needed to happen in the next few days…and there was much to do.

In the end, it was the near 10 years worth of Ron's steadfast loyalty that made him change his mind.

"Come on, Harry. I've got a right to know," Ron said quietly, almost pleading, as if to say, _don't I?_

Harry sighed and glanced up at the setting sun before he finally answered. "Yes," he said, giving in. "You do."

...

_"CRUCIO!" he heard behind him, but the spell must have missed for his legs still moved beneath him. The shack was just ahead, its warped shutters slamming against the crippled siding, beckoning him forward. He had no illusions that he'd be safe once inside, but he'd at least gain the advantage of stealth and high ground while he figured out how to escape this latest breach in his operation. This was the fifth location in three years that had been compromised which meant only one of two things: Either the Order had another spy on its hands like Zacharais Smith…or the nature of Potter's connection to Voldemort was, as he had always suspected, strongest in the area of dark magic. This latter conclusion was unsurprising. He'd recognized that since almost the very first time he'd laid eyes on Potter. And it was shear ego that prevented him from encouraging that once young boy to develop and nurture those instincts early on…James was to blame for that. He refused to accept the responsibility. _

_ "Sectumsempra!" he shouted, twisting around as he continued to run. It didn't matter now anyway, he thought, ducking into the shadows of the house. Potter would fight the Dark Lord. Maybe once, maybe many times. He would fight and he would win. Of this, he had no choice. But if he didn't…it sure as hell wouldn't be because Severus Snape had failed his own mission. _

_"SECTUMSEMPRA!" he cried again as he struck his wand out steadily in front of him and dropped his other predator dead in his tracks. The shack was quiet now, as it had been only moments before. And the fourth Sentinel was finally ready to rejoin the ranks for a final battle._


	13. The Sentinels

**Summary:** There are no muggles in foxholes. An account of the 2nd great wizarding war, of battles still to be won, and the love of a young bookworm for the man, the cause, the friends and the life she was forced to abandon.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters, their world or their toys. If I did, I wouldn't have to worry about how I'm going to pay to put myself through graduate school…come to think of it, I probably wouldn't even BOTHER with graduate school…

**Author's Note:…**anyway, this chapter was a bear to write. One of those scenes I've known has been coming for quite sometime, but you writers out there know that once you finally get there, you're terrified of screwing it up! It's finally complete…the scene anyway, not the whole story. But we're getting close. Thanks to those of you who have stuck with it, and those of you who are new. Enjoy!

Sacred Bonds

By Rebecca

The Sentinels

_A first year regarded the Great Hall as massive, almost regal in its design and presence, stirred by the majestic ceiling that mimicked the night sky. A second or third year returned to the Great Hall feeling a little taller, a little brighter, but still in awe of his older classmates and all he had left to achieve. By the time a wizard became of age, the Great Hall was a place to be marked by his presence, leaving the rich mahogany benches warm for a younger witch or wizard to come. A scratched name here and there. Echoes of the winter ball, or a memorable chess match won. _

_ But in the midst of war, the second in less than a hundred years to pit wizards and witches against each other who once ate and drank and studied together within these magic walls, the Great Hall…at least for Hermione Granger…had become a great big desk._

_ Long gone were the days where students marched in by House and took their seats to feast. Harry's strategizing sessions with different wings of the Order had outgrown the Gryffindor Common Room by the middle of his seventh year and eventually, even the Room of Requirement was simply inadequate for their needs. So by the time they reached the close of their seventh year, busily preparing for this or that battle, barely pausing to mourn the loss of classmates and parents already dead or turned, the Great Hall became the DA's command hub…and on the final eves leading up to the Day of Shadows, it was the only place one was sure to find Hermione._

_ Lightening struck and thunder rolled above as the bells in the tower chimed 10 o'clock. Were there time to fuss with such trivial things, Hermione might have looked up from her work and charmed the ceiling to reflect a quieter, less violent storm than the one that had settled itself permanently outside the castle. But she let it carry on and looked up only when Lupin entered through the giant doors, clutching a new series of scrolls and charts to his chest as he cast a simple drying spell to the tails of his coat. "Frightful out there," he said with a grin as he let the spell work its way up through his coat and along his arms, drying the scrolls in the process._

_ "Mmm hmm," she said, eyes back on her work, a 5 foot roll of parchment before her smeared with ink blots, arithmancy calculations and more Founders research. Next to her on the bench were several piles of tomes, 3 or 4 high, her empty plate with a few half-eaten bacon sandwiches already stone cold, and extra scrolls. The table itself was covered in Dark Arts Defense contraptions. These were not all supplies that Hermione herself needed, but were vital to meetings with the newly commissioned Unregistereds, Shadow Guard, Transmogrifiers and Field Medis. At the other end stood a few of Mad-Eye Moody's prized gadgets. An ominous old mirror that betrayed even the most harmless of secrets. A few Auror staffs, and of course a collection of assorted invisibility cloaks, tattered brooms, extra harnesses, potion vials, cauldrons and stones._

_ "Professor McGonagall simply must speak to the maid," Lupin said, nearly tripping on a stray Sneak-e-Scope that went off instantly. Lupin cringed. He loathed those things. Never failed to detect the beast within him. "Have you finished your calculations?"_

_ Hermione sighed, scratching out another line or two of parchment before beginning again. "I'm going mad, Professor. This last sequence simply will NOT cooperate with me." She scribbled furiously._

_ "You're tired Miss Granger and you've been working non-stop through the night."_

_ "And if I don't finish this by Friday, I'll have to start on a whole new set."_

_ Lupin smiled as he walked down the length of the hall and carefully placed his charts on the bench across from her. He would never say so, but Hermione reminded him so often of Lily lately, it was quite difficult not to confuse the two. "Are those for me?" she asked, checking a textbook before continuing. _

_ "No, they're schematics for Mr. Weasley."_

_ Finally, at the mention of Ron, she glanced away from her work. "Hogsmeade?"_

_ He nodded, "And Dovetown. Ron will need to see them tonight before he meets with the Guard in the morning."_

_ Hermione looked up just as another bolt of lighting crashed across the ceiling. "If they ever make it back tonight," she sighed._

_ "DA drills often go on well until 11, Miss Granger—"_

_ "He's STALLING, Professor." Lupin sighed, knowing full well they were no longer talking about Ron. "There's only so much I can do at this point. If he doesn't make a decision soon—"_

_ "The stars will re-align and months of preparation will be lost FOREVER!" came a mocking voice from the end of the hall. It was Ron, his arms stretched wide, a soaked broom clasped in his hand and his head thrown back dramatically. Harry stood beside him, stifling a chuckle. Both were removing invisibility cloaks from their shoulders. Hermione's cheeks burned._

_ "That wasn't funny, Ronald," she stood up from her bench, arms crossed._

_ Ron hopped on his broom and hovered over to her. "Harry laughed," he looked back, "sort of."_

_ Hermione shifted her glare to the Boy Who Lived, who walked up the other side of the table and stood near Lupin, looking far more interested in the new charts than anything Hermione had before her._

_ She sighed, massaging her temples with ink-stained fingers. "Harry, I can't finish this unless you—"_

_ "In a minute, Hermione. Charlie owled me this morning, Professor," he said, cutting her off as he unrolled one of Lupin's maps. "No luck training the other dragons but Norbert should be enough to cover the entire shore for now."_

_ "That'll be good news for the Ministry. I assume you've heard about the dementors at Mungo's?"_

_ Harry nodded, "Mr. Weasley said Shaklebolt has it contained for the moment. Ron and I sent Seamus and the twins to help just now. Buggers should give up in another hour or so."_

_ At this, Lupin raised an eyebrow. "Miss Patel has finally mastered apparition?"_

_ Ron cleared his throat, "Not…exactly, Professor." _

_ Lupin looked between the two and sighed, "Did she splinch?"_

_ "No," Ron winced, "She ended up in Greenland."_

_ "In Green—"_

_ "Seamus tailed her," Harry interrupted, glaring at Ron. "They all made it to Mungo's and sent a message through the floo network. She's fine." _

_ It was enough to satisfy Lupin. "I'll head back to the lounge then," he nodded, offered a calming smile to Hermione and then was gone._

_ Harry slumped down to the bench, still faced away from his two closest friends. _

_ "Harry—"_

_ "Give him a minute, luv," Ron touched her elbow gently from his seat on the bench. "It was a long drill."_

_ "No, it's ok," Harry said, removing his glasses, brushing a few strands of his wild black hair off his forehead. He stiffened as his hand passed over his scar, but the wince was inaudible and he was spared further comment on the subject. "What, Hermione?"_

_ He spun around to face them, and his tired face as always softened Hermione's approach. Sighing, she sat too and the three were silent for a moment. "You have to choose," she said at last._

_ Harry stared straight ahead, at no one in particular. "The 3 Sentinels," he said flatly, echoing dozens of similar conversations had since that fateful night in the common room. Sentinel. The word itself sounded odd to him, let alone the spell in which it was to be used. Hermione had spent the past few months researching the Founders. In doing so, she had discovered quite remarkably that every single Hogwarts charm, from Accio to Fidelius was a derivation of ancient magic. The Founders, they were told, had a greater command of the elements than their descendents. Fewer incantations were used because their basic spells covered a wider range of magics than modern wizards had the ability to control. The reason for this loss of power in later generations was a matter of great debate and speculation: Families like the Malfoys of course believed it was due to the introduction of muggles into the bloodlines, infecting the purity of magic. Most however maintained it was simply the result of an exponential growth of the wizarding population that gradually shifted the ratio between person and power. But reason didn't alter fact and the fact was, Founders didn't need complex phrases and fancy wrist action to affect change. Magic was wielded from within, by tapping into 3 very basic…very human qualities. The three essential dimensions of a wizard._

_ "Mind, heart and blood," she said as if he needed reminding. _

_ "You, Ron and Ginny," he said plainly._

_ "Harry—" _

_ "We're not going to argue about this again. It's you three or we forget the whole thing."_

_ Hermione clenched her fists and paid no mind to Ron who reached out to her hastily – and without success – before she sprung up from her bench. "We bloody well ARE going to argue about this again! And we are most certainly NOT going to forget the whole thing!" _

_ Her outburst was most uncharacteristically loud…and desperate. And that alone was enough to stun Harry out of his stubbornness. Slowly, he glanced up at her, his eyes glaring through the lenses of his glasses. At once he felt ashamed. Her hair was a tousled mess, wildly untamed and frizzy as it hung ungracefully around her shoulders; tired, reddened eyes, and ink blots all over her arms which were stretched forth, hands splayed over mountains of her research. It was only then he seemed to truly notice the sheer volume of parchment, textbooks and charts under which his friend was buried. He knew full well how long and hard she'd been working on harnessing this magic. And all to help _him. _He sighed as he slipped his glasses off and hung his head. "I'm sorry, Hermione," he said softly. "Really."_

_ She hesitated before sitting back down, slightly shocked by his swift surrender. Finally, she took her seat and Ron let out an audible breath that gave them both the distinct impression he'd been holding it the entire time. She shifted a bit on the bench, tucking one leg underneath the other, took a deep breath and began again. "This spell is going to shield your mind from Voldemort, Harry. The Sentinels protecting you need to be people the Dark Army _won't _suspect so easily."_

_ Harry looked up. "But these people will also be hidden," he pleaded. "It's the safest thing for all of you."_

_ Hermione frowned slightly, her expression one of pity as she reached out, covering his wrist with her hand. "Harry, almost half the Dark Army is made of up our old schoolmates. The others are their parents. It's been you, me and Ron from the very beginning," she paused and then added, "and everyone knows about you and Ginny."_

_ His whole body stiffened and Hermione withdrew her hand, feeling his wrist tighten with frustration. Her words dealt a crushing blow. They were also…devastatingly true. _

_ "She's right, mate," Ron said softly across the table. Instinctively, he grasped Hermione's other hand tightly in his own. "We're _all_ primary targets right now. If you disappear—"_

_ "You'll be the first ones they suspect," Harry clenched his teeth. "So they'll come after you anyway!" he shoved his stool away from the table and started to pace. "The end result is the same, Ron. They'll hunt you down whether you're Sentinels or not. It's why I didn't want a Secret Keeper in the first place," he shot his glance back to Hermione, "And now you're telling me that I can't use my three best friends in a spell that virtually guarantees their safety? It's rubbish, Hermione!" _

_ "But it _doesn't_ guarantee their safety," Hermione stood up too. Despite his frustration, she could feel that stubborn resolve succumbing to reality. She knew that he already understood. It was just too difficult for him to accept, a constant pattern for Harry Potter. And ordinarily she would have given him more time to grow comfortable with the idea…but time was exactly what they didn't have. And everyone knew it. "The Sentinels can't have Secret Keepers," she said. " It's one of the consequences of using magic like this. They'll have to hide like muggles. In distant corners of the earth, unable to contact anybody for as long as it takes you to defeat Voldemort. If you choose us…and we're caught…" she closed her eyes as Harry looked away. He didn't want to hear what he knew she was thinking. He was long past the point of denying his destiny, but it didn't change the fact that he hated, HATED hearing about it. How important he was. His many, many names – the Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One. So Hermione changed her approach, placing her hands on his shoulders and forcing him to look at her. "They _will _still come after us, Harry," she said, conceding his point, "But if we stay here, we'll be surrounded by the people you trust. Professor Lupin, McGonagall, Moody—"_

_ "That's right," Ron chimed in, circling around the table, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "And don't forget Dobby, Harry. Little bugger would never let anything happen to the founder of SPEW." Hermione shot her red-head a nervous look, one he was used to. One that screamed 'THIS is not the time for jokes, Ronald!' But it was the one thing Hermione was almost always wrong about. It was Ron's gift when it came to Harry. And it worked. Harry visibly softened and let out a sort of half-chuckle before shaking his head. Hermione held her breath as he looked at her slowly. "All right." _

_..._

_ Were the candles above not charmed to burn until extinguished by wand, the wicks would have long descended to the bottoms of the crystal vases floating above them as they worked through the night. Overcoming Harry's final objection didn't make the actual decision any easier. There was still the matter of who he _would_ send that had yet to be resolved. The plan itself though, was brilliant. And Harry could still recall Ron's expression the night Hermione had explained it to them both. (It was a classic Weasley blend of astonishment and confusion dashed with a hint of pride in his beloved bookworm) _"I think Voldemort can do the kinds of things we've seen him do because he's tapping into ancient magic and using it against the present. Magic the Founders used to manipulate time, cast massive protection barriers AND,"_ she'd emphasized, turning to Harry, _"dream-walk."_ He'd flinched and shut his eyes for a moment, but had urged her to continue. _"That would explain why Dumbledore was the one wizard he always feared."

"You think Dumbledore used ancient magic?"_ Ron had asked, his jaw still slightly dropped._

"Of course! How else do you think he was able to manipulate the Mirror of Erised? Or keep Harry safe all those years at Privett Drive?"

_ Ron had looked from Hermione to Harry and shrugged, _"Just…always figured he was simply smarter than you, luv."

_ Harry chuckled out loud, recalling how Hermione had wrinkled up her nose, wondering if Ron was teasing her or had just paid her a compliment. "What's so funny?" Hermione asked now, looking up from one of her many scrolls. Harry simply shook his head. "Nothing." He looked down at a roll of parchment Hermione had just tossed aside. It was a star chart with more of her unmistakable scribbling in the margins. Hermione was using advanced arithmancy and divination to calculate a spell that would help them tap into ancient magic just as Voldemort routinely did. The goal was what it had been since she first suggested it. Shield Harry's mind from Voldemort in a way that would make dream-walking and other methods of mind manipulation virtually impossible. But hiding the mind was harder than hiding the person. The Fidelius charm had successfully concealed hundreds of wizards and witches throughout generations, but it simply wouldn't work in Harry's case. The prophecy that bound them together, the phoenix feather that rested in both of their wands—Harry and Voldemort were inexplicably linked in a way that transcended modern magic. They needed to sever that link. And the only way to do that was to conceal Harry's mind in layers. Three layers. Heart, mind and blood. The dimensions of magic. _

_ Since the standard Fidelius charm _was_ a derivation of ancient magic, it stood to reason that the roots of that spell could be used to separate and hide those dimensions from Voldemort's detection – imbue each one with its own separate Secret Keeper of sorts, Sentinels she had called them. Three Guardians of Harry Potter's very spirit. Once cast, the spell would require each Sentinel to remain hidden while nourishing that part of Harry's mind he or she represented and protected. And arithmancy had helped determine just what type of person each Sentinel needed to be._

_ "Harry's got the heart of a lion," Hermione said, thoughtfully chewing on the feathery end of her quill as she scanned the footnotes of one of her many books._

_ Ron shook his head, looking over her shoulder. "I would've thought stag."_

_ Harry's eyes remained on the parchment he was holding. "Heir of Gryffindor, remember?" He scanned down a list of possibilities Hermione had drawn up. The obvious choice to him had been Ron. But that was clearly no longer an option (and really, it never was) Still, he lingered on the idea of a Weasley. He thought of the history. Arthur and Molly, Bill, Charlie…even Percy. All Gryffindors. Strong, feisty, loyal…completely devoted to Harry and the Order. The ominous bells chimed a very early 3 o'clock and a memory flashed in his mind. Two boys on brooms, soaring overhead like valiant knights, wands raised high as gelatinous sludge and firecracker wheels spilled into the hallways. _'Give 'em hell for us, Peeves!'

_ "George," Harry said quietly. Hermione and Ron looked at him. He adjusted his glasses and set the list gently back on the table with a light smirk, "Or Fred. One of the two. Heart of a lion," he looked over at Ron whose cheeks reddened slightly as he smiled. "It's gotta be a Weasley."_

_The two exchanged respectful nods as Hermione at once began scribbling. "George," she mused, more to herself. "That could really work," she checked her charts and immediately began plugging George Weasley into the equation. "Ok…Blood, Harry. The blood of a muggle. How about Ernie?"_

_Harry immediately shook his head. "His mum is sick," he said plainly. "Can't leave her right now and besides …he's…he…" Harry nervously scratched the back of his neck, trying to find a tactful way of saying—_

_"Mac couldn't apparate himself to the loo!" Ron crossed his arms, "let alone to some distant island. What about Seamus? He's half muggle isn't he?"_

_Again, Harry shook his head. "I need Seamus here. He's hell on a thestral and damn good at defending against unmentionables." He sighed. He was starting to really hate the idea of sending _anyone_ away. George Weasley would be a hard enough loss, but at least with Fred still around, they stood less of a chance of the Dark Army figuring it out. (After all, Fred and George had been impersonating each other their entire lives anyway) But the Dark Army would eventually notice no matter who he sent. For this reason, oddly enough, he still wished he could send Hermione. They might as well, right? Blood of a muggle, and sharp as a knife, he _knew _she could handle herself. But she wouldn't hear of it. "Dean," he said finally. Next to Seamus, Dean Thomas was the obvious choice. Muggle-born and arguably one of the DA's finest men when it came to camouflage and concealment. _

_Hermione nodded again without a word and began to cross-check Dean's divination chart with his own. "Mind…" she said, quietly reminding him of the third and final of his dimensions, "the mind of a phoenix." _

_Ron sat back, stretching his arms behind his head and propping his sneakers up on the table. "Colin Creevy's always been pretty bright," he said with a wink._

_ Harry laughed, "If by bright, you mean his flash bulb." He picked up one of the Auror staffs, a four foot rod of oak, and shoved his wand into the firing mechanism below the soft maroon handle. The staff was used in battle to amplify spells and Hermione gasped as he aimed for one of the chandeliers above the old Headmaster chair. _"Lumos." _He said almost without emphasis as streams of light instantly burst from the carved wolf's head at the top and lit up the stunning arrangement of cascading crystals at the far end of the hall. "Luna," he said plainly. _

_ Ron bolted forward in his chair, "Luna?"_

_ "Don't start, Ron. Luna's one of our best and you know it."_

_ But Ron couldn't help making a face as he squirmed in his seat, "Yeah, but Looney Lovegood?"_

_ Harry turned around, ejecting his wand and setting the staff down as he leaned forward, planting his hands squarely on the table in front of him. "Mind of a phoenix. 'Sees things others can't'" Harry quoted a passage of ancient text Hermione had made him read dozens of times before. "Right?" he looked at her, who nodded. He turned back, "If I can't use Ginny—Ah!"_

_ Pain shot through his head and spine as he tightened his grip on the edge of the table. Ron sprung instantly to his feet and Hermione pushed away, hastily gathering her materials with her. It was a routine they'd unfortunately grown accustomed to. It was hard to imagine a time when the three of them could sit doing their homework or talking without being interrupted by one of Voldemort's vicious mental attacks. But there it was. No warning. No build up. Just instant and agonizing pain. And before they knew it, he was gone. Stealing himself away from any evidence of what they were planning. Off to face another night alone in darkness, using every bit of will power he had left to block the Dark Lord from his thoughts until it stopped. _

_It occurred to Harry, somewhere in the back of his mind as he rushed passed concerned students and teachers in the corridors, fleeing the confining walls of Hogwarts, that Voldemort might be weakening. It had been some time since it was as bad as that night in the common room. And it seemed the episodes didn't last as long as they used to. Perhaps it was draining Voldemort's resources as well. Perhaps Harry really _had_ gotten better at Occlumency. Maybe they didn't have to send anybody away after all. Maybe there was still time to—_

_"Harry?"_

_He jolted out of his semi-empathic state and narrowly avoided crashing into a student. "Bollocks – I, sorry…are you…" he looked up and gasped at the concerned and bewildered eyes staring back at him. "Ginny," he said. She was clutching something to her chest. A notebook? A box of chocolate frogs? The image was fuzzy. He couldn't quite tell if she was even real at the moment given the state he was in. But those eyes…her eyes…_

_"Harry are you alright?"_

_…'so beautiful…so warm and inviting…you could be at peace in those eyes…_

_Tentatively, she reached out, touching his shoulder. "Harry?" she said, urgently._

_…you need her…take comfort in her…tell her…tell her what you KNOW—'_

_"NO!" Harry shouted, jerking himself away from her, burying his face in his hands. _

_"Harry, what's wrong?" Ginny pleaded, but made no movements toward him. _

_"Stay away, Gin," he growled, hating himself for it. But he had no choice. He shoved passed her, refusing to give Voldemort any more fodder for this sickening mind game of his. Harry spat at the floor, wishing Voldemort were something foul he could just cough up and be done with. But he was fooling himself. Voldemort wasn't getting weaker. His episodes weren't any less threatening, just subtler. Two seconds alone with Ginny and he'd allowed himself to open up his mind. Willing to let her in…giving _him _access in the process. And worse than that, proving Hermione right. Voldemort knew how he'd felt…_still _felt about Ginny Weasley. And he'd taken full advantage of that fact the second the opportunity presented itself. _

_It was no use. There was no other alternative. The Sentinels would have to be deployed…and soon. And as he flew off into the night, past Hagrid's old hut and into the Forbidden Forest, he found himself praying to the memory of an old white stag for the strength to endure just a little longer._


	14. Realignment

**Summary: Hermione is having a baby, Ron is a POW and Harry is...missing. An account of the 2nd great wizarding war, of battles still to be won, and the love that endures. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters, their world or their toys. **

**Author's Note: **Well, I finally got back to this story and while I don't imagine that it'll be an update a week, I really do hope I can finish _Sacred Bonds _this summer. No promises, but hopefully it won't be quite so long this time! Just as a reminder, this story was started **PRIOR** to the release of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. Consequently, some of the key characters, storylines, accounts of deaths, events etc. will be quite different. Rather than go back and re-work the entire thing so that it will fit with the current HP cannon, I have decided to complete this story as it was originally conceived.

Realignment

Dean had come to Lavender that night. The night before the Day of Shadows. He looked…different somehow. Yes, as she thought about it now, he had looked very different. But at the time, she'd been too preoccupied to notice.

Now, looking back, she smiled, her long brown hair waving behind her as the waves at Azkaban crashed into the shore. He had looked…taller. Yes, that's it. Taller. More…important? Proud of himself and yet…somehow sad. If she had known it would be the last time she saw him…if she had known then that Dean had been picked for possibly the craziest, most long-term mission…if she had known _that _night that Dean would disappear, she would have told him. She would never have let it him go without telling him…

"Lavender?" She started and glanced over her shoulder. She supposed she shouldn't be surprised. She imagined that there had been some conversation between Dean and Seamus Finnigan before he left – _leaving me in his care_, she thought. For three years, Seamus had been there for her. Maybe not always in person, but without fail whenever something had happened. Early on, when her mother got sick, it was Seamus who stayed with her, leaving his post behind. And when Lavender saw her very first thestral, Seamus was there to make sure she wasn't afraid. Through Seamus she still had a part of Dean to hold onto. And now, amidst feelings of victory and nostalgia as members of the Order prepared to leave Azkaban and return to their various posts, Seamus was still there.

"Come here often?" he said with faux panache. It earned him a grin as he sat down beside her on one of Azkaban's many crags.

"Too American."

"Fancy a night-cap then?"

"Too English."

Pause… "wanna snog?"

At that Lavender snorted out a laugh and punched his arm. "Too _Weasley_."

Seamus laughed too until their chuckles faded into silence. "Did you hear about Padma?" he asked quietly.

A knot tightened in Lavender's throat as she nodded slowly, the sound of those gentle waves suddenly violent as if echoing her despair. Padma had been one of her closest friends. The twins' contributions to the Order had been pivotal in the war and hearing about her death now…tonight…through the grapevine, as if no more than an obituary in the _Daily Prophet_…she felt hollow. Empty. But mostly…she just missed Dean.

"You know," she looked down at her hands, sore from a day's worth of grinding powders into remedies to mix with Fawkes's tears, "I never told him, Seamus."

He glanced at her, arching an eyebrow. "Who?"

"Dean."

Seamus frowned. "Told him what?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"We were seventeen. Way too young to be thinking…to be saying—"

Seamus covered her hand with his own, trembling on her knee. "He knows."

She kept her head down, "Do you think he's still—"

"Absolutely," he kept his hand over hers and squeezed. "You would know if something had happened."

Lavender's eyes watered. The battle at Azkaban, the arrival of Fawkes – it all meant something. No one in the Order dared to speak it out loud but there was a decided sense of excitement and anxiety among the ranks. They were close. To what, no one was sure, but they were close to something…fierce. Something definitive. They were close to the end.

...

Ron hadn't said anything for several minutes. There was…much to process. And Harry, though impatient, understood. His tale about his three-year quest had not been a pleasant one – its conclusion far from encouraging, at least from Ron's point of view. And it had been substantially incomplete. There were some things Harry would just not reveal about…where he'd really been. And Ron no longer seemed so eager to know the whole truth. "We should keep moving," Harry said after a while. Ron agreed.

They trudged further east toward what Ron now assumed to be Godric's Hollow, _the _place where Harry Potter first encountered Voldemort. The place where Harry's parents were murdered. "What exactly are we looking for?" he asked quietly. Harry didn't answer. Ron didn't ask again. He wasn't particularly interested anyway. The purpose for their detour from Azkaban would be resolved soon enough. More questions about Harry's destiny would be answered soon enough. Besides, some other things were bothering Ron. Things that felt…a little closer to home.

It had been bothering him now for a while, ever since Harry healed him. Wizards historically had difficulty describing the Cruciatus curse, partly because it was too painful to relive, but mostly (and unfortunately) because it was something one had to endure to truly comprehend. And no one had ever endured it as long as Ron had and lived to tell about it. So he knew exactly what it felt like at each and every stage of its severity – which is why he knew that whatever still plagued him…was decidedly _not _Cruciatus curse.

Cruciatus curse wasn't just a bloomin' awful headache. It was a curse that struck to the very core of every fiber in one's being. Neville Longbottom had revealed during his apprenticeship that it twisted every single nerve in the human body, causing its victim to keel over in pain as it traveled up the spine and into the brain, slowly stripping away a person's sanity by feeding off his mind. For this reason, it was of course quite fortunate that Harry, however he did it, hacked it entirely away and restored Ron's mind. But even in the immediate aftermath, amidst bounding relief, Ron felt as if something still remained inside—something _similar_ to the Cruciatus in that it was stuck in his head, but this wasn't painful. He didn't feel like it was feeding off of him. If anything, he felt like it was getting fainter. He'd never read about or heard of anything quite like it…of course Hermione probably had…_Hermione..._maybe _that_ was what was bothering him. Harry had said precious little about _anyone _they knew since his rescue. Nearest he could figure, he had been gone almost nine months. There were certainly casualties he did not know about. But it was starting to worry Ron that Harry had not even mentioned Hermione. Had Harry really been away so long he no longer thought of the old trio as the team they had been since the very first train ride to Hogwarts? Or worse…had something happened to her that Harry didn't _want _to tell him?

In thinking about it, another realization occurred. He hustled forward, catching up with the Boy Who Lived so they were hiking side-by-side. "You know, Hermione and I, we…we got married." He watched Harry out of the corner of his eye, looking for some sort of reaction.

Harry nodded, "I know."

"Have you…er…heard anything?"

Harry looked at him carefully, "about your wedding?"

"About Hermione." Harry looked back toward the horizon and sighed. Ron shot out his arm and stopped them both. "Harry if something's happened to her, you _have _to tell me."

Slowly, Harry removed Ron's grasp on his wrist. "I'm not sure I should be the one to tell you."

Ron's blood started to boil, "tell me what?"

"Hermione's pregnant."

...

_Harry clearly wasn't back yet when Ron woke up the morning after their Sentinel breakthrough. He had fled quickly and seemingly without incident as all students and teachers were well and accounted for…though Ginny seemed a bit shaken that night when he returned to the dormitories. In all likelihood, Harry had spent the night in the Forbidden Forest again, purposely leading himself in circles to confuse Voldemort. Bastard just wouldn't leave Harry alone and Ron tensed with silent rage at the very idea of someone invading his thoughts and emotions at every moment of vulnerability. Still, brooding about it helped no one and he knew that Harry would return when he was ready and probably, judging by the severity of last night's attack, more willing than ever to finish the Sentinel spell and end his torment for good._

_ Ron scanned his room. Seamus was still snoozing but Neville's bed was empty, probably because Neville was already at Mungo's working with his patients. He'd returned just a few weeks ago fairly excited about some breakthrough he'd made with the Cruciatus curse. He'd spent nearly every day since at Mungo's working. And with beds there filling up fast, he hoped it was something useful. _

_Lastly, Ron's gaze hovered at Dean's bed and he sighed as he watched his friend sleep soundly. _Rest well, mate,_ he thought, knowing that Dean would accept, without reservation, his new calling as one of Harry Potter's sentinels. _

_Ron took a quick shower, dressed and headed down to the common room. Breakfast was set up as usual, but a quick scan of the room revealed nothing Ron was looking for. Without even bothering to check with the girls descending from their dormitories, Ron wrapped a few pastries in a maroon napkin and headed for the Great Hall. _

_Hermione rarely rested in the dorms. He'd tried for weeks to get her to at least come back to the Common Room with him at night, but had learned quickly not to bother. He checked his watch and quickened his pace. In a few minutes the Great Tower would chime again and he wanted to reach her beforehand. Someday perhaps, he would tell her. Someday, when this was all over, he would tell her how watching her wake up was his favorite part of the day. _

_Streams of morning light seeped in through the enchanted ceiling when Ron arrived. Immediately, he extinguished the floating candles as was often part of his morning routine since Hermione never remembered to extinguish them herself the night before. Ron peered over the long tables and something wonderful tugged sharply at his chest. There she was. Her head resting on folded arms, curled up on a small sofa at the head of the room. Unbeknownst to Hermione, Ron had arranged with the house elves to have her bench transfigured into the plush sofa every night after she fell asleep. He'd do it for her himself except he usually retired before she did…and the house elves were better at transfiguring anyway. To his knowledge, she never woke up during its transformation. _

_The bells would toll soon and she would stir awake, so he rushed to the head of the hall, murmured a few incantations so the couch would revert and waited. Watching her catch her last little bit of sleep, Ron thought, as he did so often, of their life together. Theirs hadn't been an instant friendship of course. He distinctly remembered a time when he loathed this little bookworm. _"It's levi-_o_-sa…not levio-_sa_!" _he thought, smiling at the absurd image of a very young Ron Weasley being up-staged by a bushy-haired girl. Absently, he reached for the pastries he'd saved for her and set them on the table as she started to groan, her sleepy face emerging from that same head of bushy hair now. _

_"Morning," he said softly. She murmured something incoherent. Just then, the bells began to toll and she groaned fully awake. _

_"Morning," she said through a yawn. Ron sat beside her on the bench, helped prop her up, and kissed her on the forehead. "Is he back yet?" _

_"Nope." _

_Hermione sighed. "Just as well," she stretched as Ron gave her a quizzical look. _

_"Why's that?" he frowned. That peaceful look on her face only minutes before was already gone, replaced with the familiar stress-lines, sallow cheeks and worried eyes. It was as if she had fallen asleep concerned about something and picked up right where she left off worrying hours later. _

_"Because we're not finished."_

_"What?" Ron said, a little too loudly. He looked at the piles and piles of parchment and texts still sitting on the table from last night's planning. Hermione, under way too much stress for a mere 7th-year, nearly snapped back at him but they were interrupted. _

_"Morning Mr. Weasley," Professor Lupin's gentle voice carried through the hall. He was caring a rather bulky sack over his shoulder along with a caddy of potion bottles and vials of bubbling goo. "I found everything on your list, Miss Granger except the phoenix feather and frog's breath."_

_Ron cast her a sideways glance, "frog's breath?"_

_"Keeps the potion from going stale before Harry drinks it," she explained as Lupin reached them and handed over the potion caddy._

_Ron was still confused, "Frog's breath is a preservative? That's new." _

_Hermione snatched one of Ron's pastries and started munching as she unrolled a packet of parchment she'd obviously been working on the night before. If she didn't finish this soon, there would be no point in restarting. And last night, she had hit yet another snag._

_It had taken many moons of preparation to ensure that stars were aligned properly and the side of good would cooperate with the poles. Ancient magic was colossally more powerful than present-day magic and it would take an extraordinary powerful wizard like Dumbledore to tap into it on a normal day…and Dumbledore was dead. _

_"Do you have the right equations here?" Professor Lupin asked, peering over her shoulder at one of her inky charts._

_"Yes, why?"_

_"The numbers don't favor Mr. Thomas as the third anchor."_

_At this, Ron straightened up, assuming this the explanation for Hermione's comment earlier. If Dean didn't fit the formula, they would need to find another muggle-born to take his place and that could throw off their other selections too. _

_But that wasn't, apparently, what she was worried about. "It's a tricky ancestry. His family tree is almost all muggle but he's got a cousin a few generations back who was at Durmstrangs. I had to rework the incantation but he'll do."_

_Lupin nodded with a sage smile, realizing suddenly that he had nothing left to teach Hermione Granger._

_"Besides," she continued, troubled, "that's not what I'm worried about." _

_Ron shook his head, trying to keep up. "What's wrong with it? I thought you said that they all matched."_

_Hermione tiredly propped her head against her palm and sighed, "they _do_ all match. Mind, heart and blood. Each an appropriate guardian for each dimension of Harry's soul." She paused and clenched a quill in her fist, "but it's not enough."_

_Ron gasped, staring at the miles of work she had already put into this spell, "What do you mean it's not enough?"_

_"It's not enough, Ron. According to the calculations, the Sentinels will adequately mask Harry's mind, but Voldemort will still be able to penetrate with Ancient magic."_

_"What calculations? How does that even make sense?"_

_"The numbers don't add up. According to this," she pulled out a chart that Ron certainly couldn't make heads or tails of, but somehow, he guessed, clearly proved her point, "these dimensions are fused together by magic. Dividing them up between three Secret Keepers doesn't prevent Voldemort from using that same magic to fuse them back together. It'll just take longer," she paused again, practically on the verge of tears. "He'll use them as conduits and travel _through _them to get to Harry." _

_Ron glanced at the parchment and looked to Lupin for help but he appeared to be just as stumped. This was bad. It was hard enough to get Harry on board with this plan to begin with but now it seemed all it would do was slow down the attacks. And especially since now it would require Voldemort to invade not only one, but four minds to do it…well, not even Ron could support that plan. Slowly, he took a breath and surveyed the table once more. There had to be something they were missing. "What if we added another sentinel?"_

_Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. He was, after all, only trying to help. "There are _only_ three dimensions of a wizard's soul. There's nothing left to guard. And it wouldn't matter even if that were possible. Voldemort could still use ancient magic to search him out."_

_Ron frowned, still staring at the table. Lupin flipped over more layers of Hermione's work and fanned through the pages. "Are you sure he'll still be able to penetrate the complexity of this spell? After all, you'll be using ancient magic yourself to bind Harry to these sentinels. Not to mention the potion," Lupin gestured to the caddy. "How do you know his magic won't be blocked by yours?"_

_Hermione tugged at the roots of her disheveled hair and groaned. "The potion is only to help _us_ tap _into _ancient magic. Voldemort has been using it for years—"_

_"Wait-w-wait," Ron cried, starling her as he sprang up from the bench. His brain had begun to tingle. Something Lupin said made a lot of sense. He could taste it. There was an idea there, just _barely _beyond his grasp. Something familiar. He could almost feel the gears turning in his mind as he felt sure he'd stumbled on... Blimey…is this what it felt like to be Hermione? "That's it!" he said. _

_"What's it?" she looked up, arms folded across her chest, Lupin standing curious behind her. _

_"Blocked magic," he said, turning to both of them now, finally understanding the word 'epiphany'. He beheld their confused faces with mild frustration (as if his two word explanation should have sufficed). "Blocked magic," he repeated, tucking one leg underneath him as he settled back down to the bench. "Just like Lupin said. Use ancient magic to block _his _magic."_

_"I don't understand."_

_"When I was little, I found my dad tinkering with yet another muggle…thing. I dunno…something called a shower squeegee?" Hermione choked back a laugh as he continued, "Anyway, I asked him why it was he was so interested in muggles when they were so different than us. And he told me _we _aren't all that different from _them. _We just happen to know magic." He held his hands out in triumph as if he'd just pulled the proverbial rabbit out of the hat but Hermione was still confused. Lupin too seemed a bit puzzled…but he was smiling. "Don't you get it?" Ron took his girlfriend's hand, "Mind, heart and blood, Hermione. You had it right. Three dimensions of the soul. _Everyone's _soul. But magic—"_

_Hermione grasped his arm, finally understanding, "Magic is its _own_ dimension."_

_"So it seems you _do_ need another Sentinel," Lupin concluded, straightening up with his hands behind his back. "One whose only job is to guard the dimension of magic…well done, Mr. Weasley."_

_Ron blushed that old crimson Weasley red as Hermione kissed him proudly on the cheek before turning back to her quills and ink. "Blocked magic, blocked magic," she murmured to herself. "We have to work fast. The stars are nearly in alignment. Who could we get as the fourth Sentinel?"_

_Lupin stepped forward, watching her begin to scribble. "He or she will have to be chosen the same way. Someone who best represents that particular aspect of Harry."_

_She nodded and turned to Ron who held his hands up in feigned surrender, "Don't look at me, luv. Fresh out of genius here."_

_Hermione rolled her eyes but was hardly deterred. Her hands were already navigating her cluttered but acutely organized series of star maps and arithmancy charts to find Harry's original set of calculations. "Heart of a lion, blood of a muggle, mind of a phoenix," she said, almost chanting it as she re-configured Firenze's divination wheel to chart four dimensions instead of three. "Magic…" she murmured, "Magic…" she scribbled on as Ron pulled back, watching in awe as she worked. Sure it was his idea…and he had not one clue how to pull it off or even where to begin. But Hermione…he stole a glance at Lupin who was also watching his former pupil with pride and reverence. Their eyes locked for a moment as they agreed wordlessly that there never was, nor would there ever be another like her. _

_Oblivious to these musings, Hermione continued working, rapidly plugging now memorized figures into the newest calculation. When she finished, her expression was a curious mix of relief and concern. Ron and Lupin waited in silence, as she checked and re-checked her figures. Finally, when she was absolutely convinced there was no mistake, she sat back from her now very smudged chart and sighed. "Well, there's no mistaking it. Ron's idea will work."_

_Ron's knee was bouncing up and down uncontrollably as he waited for the other shoe to drop. "That's…good right?"_

_Hermione crossed her arms, "Oh it's good…but I'm afraid there aren't a whole lot of people left around here that qualify." _

_Lupin leaned forward now too. "Why?"_

_Hermione placed her hands, folded, atop her newest discovery and took a deep breath. "Harry has the heart of a lion, blood of a muggle, mind of the phoenix and magic…of the serpent."_

_Fresh exploding fire wheels from Weasley's Wizzard-Bees could have whizzed through the Great Hall and Ron would still have been too stunned to notice. "The…serpent?" he gulped. Hermione nodded. "Serpent as in snake." Another nod. "As in Slytherin…oh, bloody hell." _

_"There are several Slytherins who have stayed behind, Ron." Lupin offered._

_Ron pushed himself away from table and started to pace. "And would you trust _any _of them with this?"_

_ "The fact that they're still here is a good sign."_

_ He ran his hands through his hair and massaged his suddenly aching neck, "Yeah, or a sign that the wankers are double-agents, watching our every move."_

_ "Everyone at Hogwarts has been administered and questioned under the influence of veritaserum, Ron," Lupin reminded him as he prayed for his students not to give up hope._

_ "Even so, professor. What Slytherin in this school would you trust with Harry Potter's life?"_

_ "Snape"_

_ Ron, Hermione and Lupin reeled around and gaped at the sight of Harry Potter at the end of the hall. He was still dressed as he was last night. His hair windswept and messy. In his hand, a Cleansweep worn down to its very last bit of bristle. He looked awful…but his eyes… mind of a phoenix indeed. His eyes were focused, determined…and ready. _

_ Harry strode toward them, tossing his broom on a nearby table and shot a half-frown-half-smirk at Ron. "Either we need locks on these doors or you three need to speak a LOT quieter." Ron stammered incoherently, not quite knowing if he should laugh or scream at the absurdity of Harry's choice for the final Sentinel. Harry looked to Lupin. "Professor would you mind re-visiting the potions lab?"_

_ Lupin nodded with a grin and left at once as Harry finally turned to Hermione. _

_ "Harry, are you sure? I mean…Severus Sn—"_

_ "Snape," Harry repeated again. "He's the only one strong enough."_

_ "Yeah but Harry," Ron grasped onto his shoulder, "It's SNAPE! Do you really trust him?"_

_ "Dumbledore trusted him," Harry said…and then added, knowing _that_ was no longer enough, "and so do I."_


	15. Godric's Hollow

**Summary: Hermione had a baby, Ron survived being a prisoner of war, and Harry is...back. An account of the 2nd great wizarding war, of battles still to be won, and the love that endures. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters, their world or their toys. These belong to J.K. Rowling. I also don't own rights to the various references to the Arthurian Legend, but most of that stuff is public domain anyway ****J**** Still, I must credit Cretien de Troyes and Alfred Lord Tennyson with specific references to Excalibur. **

**Author's Note: **Just as a reminder, this story was started **PRIOR** to the release of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. Consequently, some of the key characters, storylines, accounts of deaths, events etc. will be quite different. Rather than go back and re-work the entire thing so that it will fit with the current HP cannon, I have decided to complete this story as it was originally conceived. (I have NOT even _read _Deathly Hollows and refuse to do so until I finish this story so if you're looking for something that fits into ALL elements of HP canon, I suggest you trek elsewhere ;) If, however, you enjoy a good "what if" then please, enjoy the rest of _Sacred Bonds. _

Godric's Hollow

Godric's Hollow, named for Godric Gryffindor, and one of the most sacred and infamous towns among the Wizarding community—didn't look like much. Concealed as a muggle community for some time now, it reminded Harry very much of Little Whinging. Gryffin Road, the main road, ran through the center of the town and when Harry and Ron arrived, they watched, hidden among the anonymity of muggles, as ordinary men and women went about their daily lives, waking up to an unusually warm and pleasant day. A young muggle boy on a bicycle zipped by and Harry was struck with a sense of longing he hadn't felt since he left Hogwarts. This was different though. Back then, he had missed his friends, his teachers, his comrades. Now…he missed _this_. Life as a muggle before his eleventh birthday had hardly been pleasant. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia weren't qualified to raise their _own _kid, let alone someone else's. But with everything that had happened, with half of his community slaughtered and the other half fighting on in a war that only _he _could end…Harry briefly longed for that cupboard under the stairs at Privett Drive.

But this wasn't Little Whinging. This wasn't Privett Drive. And as the old man had cautioned him, he could not afford to be distracted by the petty and inconsequential comforts of human life. Harry would never agree that these were weaknesses…but he certainly knew that aching hearts and wistful longings had no place in his life now. He had a job to do and not a whole lot of time to do it.

The place of Harry's birth had been abandoned for almost twenty-one years. Leased by the town council in Hogsmeade (fronted of course through a dummy corporation) the wizard world had not allowed anyone to settle in the Potters' old home. Since then, muggles had concocted numerous legends about its origins. Muggle children had been dared to knock on the battered front door on Halloween and an old eccentric woman who owned the apothecary shop in town (a woman the Ministry had kept a fairly close eye on) often told stories to newcomers of the haunted house on Gryffin Hill.

But for Ron and the rest of the non-muggle world, this was a crime scene—a house where an unforgivable murder was committed with an unforgivable curse that left Harry with a lightning-shaped scar.

Ron tailed close behind, falling into step as the two entered the crooked old house. He was playing the competent soldier he had been for the past three years, watching the commander's back and checking for signs of Dark Army spies or booby-traps…but he was merely going through the motions. His mind was somewhere else entirely. _Pregnant_, he thought again. What _was_ it about that word? It wasn't a spell. It wasn't an incantation. And, as far as Ron knew, it wasn't part of any chant that Ron had ever learned as a student at Hogwarts and yet…it was more astonishing and downright life-shattering than any spell Ron had ever cast. _She's pregnant_, he thought as Harry pushed beams of rotting leaves and diseased wood out of the doorframe. _Pregnant… PREGNANT!... For heaven's sake, Ronald. Stop repeating yourself! _Ron spun around, "Hermione?"

Harry glanced over his shoulder. "What?"

Ron looked at Harry who was over the threshold by now and testing his way around loose floorboards. "I uh…er…you didn't hear that?" Harry shook his head. Ron reached his hands out in front of him, hovering, as if feeling the air around him. "I could swear I heard Hermione."

He simply nodded. "Probably your imagination," he lied. Ron was too distracted to notice his evasion. In truth, Harry wasn't exactly sure what Hermione had done…but he knew what he _felt_ when he cured Ron of the Cruciatus. Hearing her now could be a good sign…it could also be very bad. Guessing helped no one…and news of impending fatherhood, Harry felt, was quite enough for an escaped prisoner-of-war to be coping with right now. "Come on," he motioned Ron toward another cracked door.

They made their way across what Ron supposed was once a small living area. A stone fireplace on the east wall was fairly in tact, though the charred wooden picture frames that hung on the walls around it left no trace of the photo-images they once displayed. Scattered about the room were fragments of chairs and sofas, shredded drapes and a broken grandfather clock. In one corner was a rocking chair, oddly untouched, swaying in the breeze. He shivered and looked away. In another corner, a cupboard door stood off its hinges, no longer concealing the dark storage space that had been cleared of Lily and James Potter's personal treasures years ago. They passed by the cupboard too and Ron briefly wondered at Harry's seeming nonchalance at the whole dismal scene. Then something caught Ron's eye below and he paused, brushing and kicking away years worth of dust and debris from the hard-wood floor. What he uncovered made his stomach lurch. Since he was a baby he had heard, over and over like a bedtime story, the tale of the heroic James Potter, killed trying to fend off He Who Shall Not Be Named, protecting his wife and son hiding upstairs. And though he knew what house they were entering at the time, it suddenly dawned on Ron that this was the very room in which James Potter murdered. Scratched below him on the floor were the unmistakable green burn streaks of the Killing Curse.

"You coming?"

Ron snapped out of his trance, "sorry." Ron shoved his hands in his pockets, his eyes lingering on the green marks a moment longer. When he looked up, Harry had finished dismantling what was left of the door and was ready to head…downstairs. "Uh, that looks like the cellar, mate."

Harry looked up, "yeah?"

"Well weren't you…I mean, didn't it happen…upstairs?"

Harry paused. He had not told Ron exactly what they came here for, so it wasn't surprising that Ron assumed they would be going upstairs…to the room where Lily had died protecting him. After all, that's what this place was…to everyone else. "We're not here for that," he said quietly, turning back to the cobweb-laden steps. Ron didn't reply. The two descended into the cellar and Ron was immediately struck by how undisturbed the place was. Upstairs were the remnants of a war zone. But beneath that awful scene lay an ordinary looking cellar, completely preserved, save for the obvious absence of boxes and chests belonging to the Potter family (Those would also have been removed long ago). Ron instinctively reached for his belt, searching for his wand so he could cast a light spell. "Bollocks," he muttered.

Harry looked up, "What?"

"Stupid tart stole my wand" he grumbled, cursing Pansy Parkinson.

"You won't need it anyway," Harry replied.

"Why not?" he asked. Harry just shrugged as he started stomping around the concrete floor. Ron sighed, "Fine. Nevermind." It was silly. And Hermione would have scolded him for it. But he was starting to get a tad perturbed with how much Harry just _knew_.

This time, Harry finally seemed to sense Ron's mounting frustration. "It's just that nothing much goes on here anymore other than the occasional muggle looking to either scare or snog his girlfriend," Harry paused and cracked a sardonic grin, "And er…we're not here for that."

Ron looked up, "Blimey Harry…was that a…joke?"

Harry didn't respond but grin remained and Ron…well, Ron suddenly felt a little bit better. Harry continued pounding on the solid floor and Ron was on the verge of asking – again – what he was looking for when Harry's sneaker made a different sort of _klunk. _ Harry's eyes sparked and immediately, he fell to the floor.

_Just like the old man said, _he thought, privately thankful that he hadn't been sent on an endless goose-chase. The floor was caked in layers of dust, clay and crumbled rock and he began to clear the area around him, uncovering cracks and crevices in the floor arranged in a rather intricate design.

Ron crouched down too and watched as Harry's handiwork revealed a large and beautiful crest etched in the stone floor. Some of the design work was familiar. Crystals of red, green, blue and yellow hues were seated in the stone representing all four houses of Hogwarts. Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff mascots comprised most of the etching with gold lettering underneath each house denoting its name. However, as Ron looked closer, he could tell that this wasn't just a representation of the Hogwarts crest. First of all, the houses were positioned differently than they were on his old school robes. A typical Hogwarts crest displayed the Gryffindor lion and Slytherin serpent facing each other with the Ravenclaw eagle and Hufflepuff badger facing off underneath. However this design, which looked more like a raised platform now, was circular and divided into four vertical sections, the middle and larger two being Gryffindor and Slytherin with Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw on the outer, almost crescent-shaped edges. There were other designs too. Other animals and figures trimming the outside edges. Some looked vaguely familiar to Ron. The Durmstrang symbol maybe? Beauxbatoms? And other designs were completely _un_familiar. The most intriguing element of the design, however, was the brilliant shining sword that lay between the lion and serpent images in the center of the circle. Were it not so obviously attached to the rest of the molding, Ron might have thought the thing could just be lifted from its cradle and actually used. Now uncovered completely, Ron could hardly believe he hadn't noticed its shining brilliance when he first entered the cellar. The sword's handle was raised significantly higher off the floor than the rest of the design and he suddenly realized what he was looking at. The crest, the entire etching, was a hatch.

Harry grasped the sword's large handle and pulled, but nothing budged. He looked at Ron who hunched over as well, grabbed part of the handle and the two of them heaved upward. After a few more tries and much grunting, they managed the pry open the hatch.

For a few moments, the two men stared at what seemed to be sheer blackness before them. "Er…" Ron said nervously, "that was…easy."

Harry just shrugged. He didn't bother explaining to Ron that this was not just a hatch door but a portal. That it was only visible for a short period of time. That it had not always been here. And very shortly, its location would move to another corner of the world…in another era. He pulled the colorful crest all the way open and leaned over, peering inside.

Ron, who had been watching Harry very carefully, suddenly felt as if he were fourteen years old and had just been caught sneaking into a top secret Ministry meeting on a Fred and George dare. "You…uh…need me to leave the room?"

Harry looked down and brushed some of that crazy black hair off of his scar, "No." The portal was about a meter wide and despite its outer decor, there was nothing particularly remarkable about this, well, very big hole. Ron was beginning to wonder whether or not Harry had expected this when Harry suddenly plunged his arm into it.

It was one of the most bizarre sights Ron had ever seen, though Harry, of course, seemed unsurprised. Harry's arm was clearly inside and even still visible past the threshold of the hatch opening, but it was twisted and distorted, as if he reaching into a whirlpool with rings of gelatinous blackness rippling out from his elbow. Harry seemed to be concentrating especially hard and before long, pulled his arm back out. "Damn."

"What?"

Harry had pulled out of the void a spectacular shining sword. Even in the dark cellar, Ron had to shield his eyes from the brightness of the blade. Harry examined it for a few moments and cast it aside as if he'd found an old shoe. But Ron couldn't tear his eyes away. The sword seemed to be emitting light from within itself, and Ron could make out the words _Cast Me Away _inscribed on the blade_. _ His brain started to race as Professor Binns lectures he managed to stay awake for flashed in his head. "Harry," he gasped, "this is…i-is this…Excalibur?"

Harry didn't even flinch. "Yeah." Harry had already plunged his arm back into the portal as Ron sat gaping at a blade as famous and as old as Merlin himself. In another few seconds, Harry pulled his arm out again only this time he held a strange sort of ornate chalice.

"What is _that?_"

Harry held it in the light of the sword and examined it before handing it to Ron. "Muggles have been looking for this for centuries." Ron handled it carefully, trying to remember the many myths and legends associated with the sword of King Arthur.

In another few minutes, the floor around them was littered with treasures. Relics from the Middle Ages, artifacts from the Renaissance. Unfinished sketches by Leonardo DaVinci. Magically encrypted drafts of Beethoven's 10th Symphony. Before them lay proof of what was once only legend – muggle artists either inspired by or practitioners of magic. Tudor-era cauldrons. Crystal balls. And among the more historically relevant items like Excalibur were a half dozen other fantastical things: a pair of gold slippers, a red cape, a few burned out wands, a satchel of beans and even what appeared to be a sort of animal harness…adorned with jingle bells.

Hundreds of years worth of magical history and yet, Harry examined each with the same sort of indifference as he did Excalibur and with increasing frustration. "Harry?" he muttered, quite in disbelief that among all of these incredible things, Harry still hadn't found what he was looking for.

"Shh," he snapped, reaching again into the portal. "I know it's in here. It's the only place he would've put it."

"Put _what?"_ But Ron's suspense finally ended as Harry smiled, pulling his arm out of the portal for the last time.

"Got it." Harry's hand closed around something small and jagged. Ron straightened up on his knees and looked over Harry's shoulder…just in time to see him tuck the Sorcerer's Stone safely in his pocket.

"Oh bloody hell, _that's _what you were looking for?" Ron asked, gaping at the many more interesting and unusual objects around them. Being surrounded by pages of Lady Macbeth's diary and Helga Hufflepuff's wand, somehow it just seemed anticlimactic. "I thought that thing was destroyed…like when we were 12!"

Harry hoisted himself off the floor and dusted off his jeans. Then, without a word, he closed his eyes and held his hands over the many lost and forgotten treasures. Ron sat stunned as each object flew back into the portal until only Excalibur remained. "True magic can never really be destroyed," Harry said as he picked up the sword.

Ron couldn't even fathom how Harry had willed every magical artifact back into the portal with hardly _any _concentration. And he couldn't begin to guess why Harry had traveled all this way and dug through countless treasures to arrive at something Voldemort himself had stopped looking for after their _first _year at Hogwarts. But most of all, Ron simply couldn't get over how different Harry was. Of course after three years, he was expecting _some _changes. A little wiser perhaps. A little more studied in various fields of magic. But as time went on during this little trek of theirs, Harry reminded Ron an awful lot of…well…Dumbledore.

Ron was about to say as much when Harry abruptly turned toward the cellar stairs and started to leave. Ron followed suit without hesitation…keeping this latest observation to himself…which was really too bad for both of them. Given everything Harry had been through in the past three years, it might have been something he _wanted_ to hear.


	16. The Day of Shadows

**Summary:** There are no muggles in foxholes. An account of the 2nd great wizarding war, of battles still to be won, and the love of a young bookworm for the man, the cause, the friends and the life she was forced to abandon.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters, their world or their toys.

**Author's Note: **As always, don't forget this is an A.U. fiction as of the publication of _Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince._ Some events might not fit exactly with the HP cannon.

Sacred Bonds

By Rebecca

The Day of Shadows

_The Day of Shadows hadn't always been called the Day of Shadows. As with all red-letter days in human history, the Day of Shadows was once just another day—May 12th, in fact, of what would have been Harry's final year as a student at Hogwarts. _

_ But Harry's final year, of course, had been hardly typical of a wizard coming of age. And by the time Hermione had finally mapped, charted, calculated and pulled together all of the necessary components of the Sentinel spell, Hogwarts was hardly a typical school anymore. Snape and the others had been approached. Work had continued with potions, incantations, and blood-letting rituals. Dean, George and Luna all received basic training in Occlumens (which was hardly productive, but Hermione felt necessary given the nature of the spell they were to attempt). And while Hermione worked even longer and harder hours in the Great Hall, Harry, Ron, and Lupin had spent the time training and organizing the various wings of Dumbledore's Army. Having solved the problem of altitude with a little help from some old pals of Hagrid's, Ron had the unfortunately difficult task of teaching his top flyers to ride invisible horses. Some of course, including Ron, could already see thestrals. But they simply couldn't wait until each and every member of the new Shadow Guard witnessed a death…that was coming for all of them soon enough. Lupin and Tonks had continued teaching a number of students with exceptionally high marks in transfiguration to morph into various animals they determined could be useful in stealth situations. And a quick floo call to Arthur Weasley had ensured the necessary stiffs that remained at the Ministry would never know how many Unregistered animagi would suddenly be popping up in their little but powerful community. _

_Harry worked rather closely with Seamus and Mad Eye Moody training troops on the ground. Unregistered animagi and guards on thestrals would prove useful in very specific ways, but everyone knew that in the end, a wizard in battle was only as good as his will, his cunning, his courage, and his wand. And as the eve of the Day of Shadows approached, there lived not a single young witch or wizard left at Hogwarts who hadn't been personally trained, observed and tested by Harry Potter. _

_The final day of preparation for the Sentinel spell had been particularly grueling. Not only because the training itself was intense, but Harry was acutely aware that this might be the very last time he would see his peers…his classmates…his friends. _It's ready_ Hermione had said last night and he knew they could put this mad plan off no longer. Voldemort's mental attacks were fewer and father between but had violently surged in intensity. The last one which had occurred only two weeks ago, had come upon him so suddenly he'd almost attacked Ernie MacMillan before he could block Voldemort's intrusion. So it had been decided. The morning of May 12th, not a particularly significant date when it began but would live on in infamy for generations afterward, had been selected out of necessity as the day Hermione Granger's brilliant but insane idea would come to fruition…so on the evening of May 11th, Harry, against his own better judgment, decided to pay a very important visit to the Forbidden Forest._

_Ginny Weasley was Harry Potter's ex-girlfriend. At least, that's all anyone ever seemed to remember. They kept it to themselves of course but she saw it in their eyes when they looked at her. Classmates, teachers, even her closest friends all biting their tongues wondering what it was like to _date _Harry Potter. She supposed the only ally she had in this matter was Cho Chang. But Cho was two years older and had been far less in the spotlight where Harry was concerned. Besides…Cho's one miserable Valentine's Day date could never compare to the night Ginny showed up at Privett Drive the following summer with a box of chocolate frogs and Ron's chess set. By the end of the evening, the chess pieces were screaming at both of them, Ginny had finally met the infamous Uncle Vernon when he banished them to the cellar, and most of the chocolate frogs had hopped off when Harry's fat cousin mistook them for muggle candies and scared them away…it was one of the best nights of her life. _

_Ginny had known even then that a relationship with Harry involved risks, and not all having to do with prophecies and fierce dark lords. There were personal risks too – and they ran quite deep. That summer had been rough. Harry had just lost his godfather, the only remaining link to his parents. And it seemed as though Harry were carrying around a burden on his shoulders far too heavy for him to lift. Naturally, Ginny knew better than to question him about it. Her plan had been simply…to be there for him. Whenever he needed and whatever she could provide. She hadn't intended it to be anything more than an extension of their friendship…and of course, that's how _all _epic relationships begin. _

_They were quickly Hogwarts' most popular couple. It seemed that before they got off the bloody train the following fall, _everyone _knew about Harry and Ginny. She never quite forgot the look in Professor Dumbledore's eyes as he observed them walking into the Great Hall hand-in-hand. That look…generations' worth of wisdom hidden behind that mask of tranquility. It was an expression of…warning?…no…pity…yes, as she thought about it now. Definitely pity – a smile of compassion that seemed to say _Cherish this moment, child. It will not last. _Ginny had never mentioned it to Harry. He had enough on his mind. But it had haunted her ever since. _

_Perhaps for this reason, Ginny was not terribly surprised nor all that angry when Harry broke things off a day after his birthday the following summer. And she was determined that afterwards, she would remain Harry's friend and would continue to be there for him…whenever he needed…whatever she could provide. Except that when it was over between them, Harry had rather religiously kept his distance._

_Brief encounters in the hallways of Hogwarts, stolen glances from across the common room…and that awful night they'd bumped into each other as Harry fled the grounds. The pain in his eyes that night, the familiar blackness that always accompanied one of Voldemort's attacks – Ginny had seen it happen on more than one occasion. But the way he looked at _her_…such fear…such regret. She couldn't bear it any longer. _

_Neville had been allowed to take an apprenticeship at Mungo's so Ginny saw no reason why Professor McGonagall would deny her request to move out to Hagrid's old cottage with a small team dedicated to mapping the Forbidden Forest. There were many pockets of natural apparition points hidden among the blanket of enchanted trees concealing the school. This much was widely known, but no one had ever bothered to study or survey it. _

_"It's a small clearing of trees in the woods north of Sheffield," she heard Michael saying through the new amplification charm Ron had taught the Shadow Guard. She shook herself out of memory lane and tapped her wand to her throat._

_"And you're sure the entrance is far enough away from the nest?"_

_"Yeah it's a good four or five miles."_

_"Good work Michael. Head back the hut and make sure you check in before –"_

_"Before heading back to Hogwarts, I know."_

_"What nest?"_

_Ginny nearly toppled over, "D-d-de-amplify!" she cried, tapping her wand to her throat as she ungracefully threw her weight forward so as to not completely fall off out of her chair. "Bloody hell, Harry!" she said before she even turned around. _

_"Sorry," Harry looked down, embarrassed. "Didn't mean to scare you." _

_Ginny drew a quick breath, clenching her fists together with nervous energy before slowly rising out of her chair and turning to face him. It wasn't quite the first time he'd willingly chosen to speak with her since the summer…but it was close. She turned around and attempted a grin, "it's ok."_

_Harry was leaning against the door, hands behind his back. Strands of his hair hung untidily around his face and he was staring quite intensely at his shoes as they nervously kicked around a scrap of crumpled parchment on the hut's floor. He looked…tired. "What nest?" _

_ She blinked a few times and then remembered, "Right…the er…well…Aragog's nest. He's still there you know."_

_ "How's it going?" _

_"We've covered a lot of ground. Colin's been a big help with that tricky patch closest to the lake."_

_"Creevy?" he asked. Ginny nodded._

_Harry shivered slightly at the thought of a spider three times the size of a cow so close to little Colin Creevy. Then he remembered why he had come tonight—what tomorrow would bring and the…days? Months?...Years…that might follow without him. Privately, Harry decided it was best not to think of _new_ things to worry about this evening. _

_"Why are you here, Harry?" her rather blunt question startled him. But in response, he couldn't help but chuckle. She was as blunt and unassuming as her brother. It's one of the many things he liked…_loved _about her._

_"I came to say goodbye." _

_This is how it had always been for Harry and Ginny. Reality had robbed them of all traditional codes of behavior for teenage love. There was no time or room for endearing awkwardness and first-date jitters. "Goodbye?" she asked, nervously. "W-where are you going?"_

_Harry hesitated and then began moving toward her. "Not really sure," he said – a lie, but necessary…to protect her. _

_Ginny's breath caught in her throat as he inched forward, looking just as uncertain as she felt. The last time he was this close, there was a darkness in his eyes that she didn't care to see again. "Oh," she managed. "Well, uh…how long?"_

_"I don't know that either."_

_Ginny's heart was hammering so hard against her chest, she thought she might burst. And Harry's evasiveness wasn't helping. "Well," she managed, "Safe journey then."_

_"Ginny—" _

_"Harry you really don't have to—"_

_"I wanted to give you this," he said, and suddenly he was right in front of her, holding out his hand with something small clasped inside._

_Ginny swallowed hard, staring as he slowly opened his palm. It was a tiny miniature snitch, its wings fluttering happily as it hung from its silver chain. Trinkets like this were sold in many of the shops in Hogsmeade…one shop in particular. The item itself was unremarkable. The sentiment behind it…unmistakable. This was the chain she had bought for him on one of their very first official "dates". Destiny had weighed heavily on his shoulders even then, and he had been rather distant the entire afternoon. On a whim, Ginny had dragged him into a tiny store at the edge of Hogsmeade and bought the first Quidditch related souvenir she saw. "_Wear this_," she had said with a wide Weasley grin. He had looked at her skeptically, but she just smiled. "_So you don't lose yourself_."_

_"_Lose myself_?" he had asked._

_"_You're still that wicked Seeker, Harry. Hold on to that part of you_." _

_In giving it back to her now, Harry's meaning was clear. He was letting go…leaving that part of himself behind…leaving it with her. _

_"Gin, I don't know when I'm coming back," he said softly, He placed the chain in her palm and closed her hand around it. "I might not come back at all. So I wanted you to know," his voice hitched in his throat as he squeezed her hand in his own, "I mean, I didn't want to leave without telling you—"_

_ "Don't," she said quickly. She took the chain and slipped it around her neck. Then before she had time to think about it, she stepped forward, closing the gap between them and kissed him. "Tell me when it's over," she whispered, pulling away from him several minutes later. "Tell me when_ _you come home." _

_Harry sighed, watching as the wings of the snitch came to rest against her blouse, the sweet familiar taste of her still burning on his lips. There were so many things he wanted to tell her. So many things he knew now, more than ever…that she would never know. "All right then," he said, "When it's over." _

_..._

_ "Mmm…Helga Hufflepuff."_

_ "Not even close."_

_ "Godric Gryffindor?"_

_ "What you gonna do, just guess all the houses?"_

_ "Ok…Albus Dumbledore!"_

_ "Come on you're not even trying!"_

_ "Bullocks, who cares anyway," Seamus muttered chucking a fistful of leaves off the edge of the bell tower. _

_ "You're the one who wanted to play, mate," Ernie chuckled, watching as the soft spring breeze gracefully carry the leaves down to the courtyard. _

_ "Yeah, _Quidditch_ trivia. Not bloody Professor Binns rubbish. Why would I even _want_ to know who developed arithmancy?"_

_ Ernie shrugged, "I dunno. It's the first thing that came to mind. S'the only thing I remember from that class."_

_ Seamus sighed, "Crikey, I don't remember _anything_ from that class. I just copied Hermione's notes."_

_ Ernie snorted, "I tried that once. Notes were so long they put me to sleep faster than Binns." _

_ The two were on watch, not an uncommon post for Seamus, but a fairly new one for Ernie. Having spent the past few weeks learning how to ride invisible horses, Ernie felt awkward being on the ground today. Of course, keeping watch atop the highest tower at Hogwarts was fairly close to the sky, but Ernie was seriously considering requesting a permanent assignment to the new Shadow Guard. Flying on thestrals was finally, it seemed, something Ernie MacMillan was good at._

_ The two had been bantering in this manner for some time now, each carefully avoiding the pressing question on both their minds…What was going on in the Great Hall? Harry had gotten most of the original DA together that morning. It was maybe a bit odd to have everyone all in one place, but at the time Seamus didn't think anything of it. _Just another strategy session_ he had supposed. But as the meeting unfolded, he sensed a decided air of finality in Harry's voice…almost as if the instructions he gave would be…his last. In thinking about it afterwards, Seamus resolved not to worry too much…until Dean approached him after lunch. _

_ In the seven years since they met on the train, he had never known Dean to be intentionally evasive or equivocating. Dean said what Dean meant – nothing more, nothing less. It was why they got along so well. Two regular "unassuming chaps" his father had called them one Christmas holiday._

_ Today was different._

_ "Take care of Lavender for me," he had said that afternoon. _

_ "Why, you goin' somewhere?" he had nervously chuckled back, half hoping his jovial manner would be returned. It wasn't. _

_ "Yes." was his only reply. _

_ The doors to the Great Hall were charmed shut now, and Seamus was left to assume Dean was inside because no one had seen him…or Harry or Ron or Hermione or a half dozen_ _other Order members all afternoon._

_ "Seamus," Ernie said quietly._

_ "Hmm?"_

_ "Do you think it's gonna be bad?"_

_ Seamus looked over. Ernie was staring straight ahead, no longer laughing about old classes, searching the horizons for answers. Seamus sighed. "Already is in't it? Dumbledore and the Bones family. Hagrid—"_

_ "Yeah but," he started and then shook his head. "I dunno. I feel like it hasn't really started yet."_

_ Seamus nodded. _Take care of Lavender… _"Yeah," he said. "I know what you mean—"_

_ "What the hell?" Ernie cried._

_ Seamus snapped his head up in alarm. Ernie was gaping at the Enchanted Lake in a state of complete petrifaction. At first glance, Seamus had not the slightest clue what was wrong._

_ "What _is _it?" he implored._

_ "Look!" Ernie cried again, thrusting his arm forward as if that was sufficient explanation. But words had escaped him._

_ "Crikey, Mac. What—" then he saw it. "Bloody hell."_

_ The lake had always been a bit ominous-looking. It played an essential role in achieving that great sense of Hogwarts mysticism. But at the moment, the lake was quite unmistakably…changing; and not only the lake, Seamus noticed, but the entire landscape on the outskirts of Hogwarts. Seamus would never quite know how to describe it but it seemed as if a great blanket of darkness were creeping across the grounds. Seamus's first instinct was to look up, searching for some reasonable explanation – a sudden storm? Immense cloud cover? But it was a bright, sunny afternoon. There was nothing to explain it. Hogwarts was simply being covered in shadow…and quickly too. Fear fastened its iron-clad grip on his heart as he struggled to his feet. "Ernie?" he said. "I think it's starting."_

_..._

_ "You won't be able to establish a bond without its potency!" Snape argued._

_ "Deadly nightshade is a _dark _herb, Professor—"_

_ "And Mr. Potter is infused with the powers of the _serpent, _Miss Granger. Isn't that why I'm here?"_

_ "The quantities required to act as a sufficient bonding agent are deadly. I won't risk that!"_

_ "Yes, by all means. Let's not _dare_ introduce risk for the sake of success! For victory—" _

_ "Enough!" Harry bellowed, coming between Hermione and Snape who had been at it for a solid half-hour. The Great Hall was significantly more populated today than it had been of late. And there were a great many conversations going on at once. Arthur Weasley had come on urgent business from the Ministry concerning the Unregistereds. He was talking with his twin sons at present, one of whom was preparing to leave…for a very long time. Harry had allowed both Arthur and Fred to stay. Luna Lovegood conversed in loopy whispers with Dean Thomas, and Ron had been going over the specs for the latest thestral harness design with Lupin. But as the bickering carried on, all eyes were drawn to the front of the hall where Hermione was trying to brew the last of the potion. Snape had obviously supplied most of the ingredients and was, like Dean, Luna and George, readying himself to become a Sentinel. The unfortunate side-effect to having selected him, however, was his unwavering…and unwanted input._

_ "Hermione has been over this spell a million times, Snape. I trust her on this."_

_ "And I'm sure that trust will last just long enough to see the bonds collapse after minutes of joining because you're using _lilac!" _he shuddered at the word as if Hermione had suggested using super glue._

_ "Lilac root is just as effective and you know it—"_

_ "Hermione—" Harry warned._

_ "He knows it!" she said._

_ "Of course he does, luv," Ron suddenly stepped behind her, his arms firmly planted on her shoulders. "He's jealous he didn't think of this whole thing first."_

_ "I said enough," Harry said, in turn glaring at each of them. "Hermione, finish the potion."_

_ Beat red from both the argument and Ron's compliment, Hermione nodded and turned back to her cauldron. _

_ Snape turned to Harry and was about to retort when Harry stopped him, his voice a harsh whisper. "You have _one _job here, Snape!"_

_ Snape clenched his teeth, "That girl is dealing with magic she can't possibly—" _

_"_One _job. Is that clear?"_

_ Harry might have had the magic of a serpent…but he had the fire of a phoenix in his eyes. And Snape could see the flames. "Perfectly," he hissed._

_But Harry wasn't finished. He stepped closer. "One of the last things Dumbledore ever said to me was 'trust Snape.'" The potion master looked stunned. "Don't ever abuse his trust like that again…or mine." He didn't wait for a reply and walked off to join the others. Snape scowled but said nothing…for there was nothing to say._

_Evening was approaching and Harry felt a sense of urgency well up inside him inexplicably. Certainly the spell needed to be completed tonight while Hermione's stars were aligned but they had quite a while to go until the witching hour. No, it was something else. Voldemort was close. Physically close. He could feel it somehow. _

_ "Still say it should've been someone else," Ron muttered as Harry joined them at the cauldron._

_ "_Who _else?" Harry asked pointedly. Ron shrugged. _

_ "Snape _is _the strongest candidate," Hermione said. "And if he were going to betray us—"_

_ "He's not," Harry said. And despite their history, he believed it. "How are we coming?" he nodded at Hermione's bubbling brew. _

_ "Almost done," she turned back, stirring._

_ "Need something to make it taste a little better luv?" George came up behind them, holding a suspicious looking bag in his hand._

_ Hermione whirled around with a sardonic grin on her face. "George Weasley, you take another step forward and I'll turn you into a newt!"_

_ George reeled back as Fred and Arthur joined him. "A newt?" he looked at Fred. "Doesn't that sound familiar to you?"_

_ Fred shrugged. "Couldn't say. You better control that woman of yours, _Ronald!_"_

_ But Ron just grinned. "Couldn't if I wanted to."_

_ Hermione blushed and turned back to the cauldron, adding the contentious lilac root to the mixture. Dean and Luna and eventually the whole company gathered at the cauldron, waiting for the last element to simmer into the brilliant concoction. _

_ "Ok," Hermione said at last, taking a deep breath, "I think it's—"_

_ Just then, the great doors at the end of the hall burst open, remnants of magic dust and orange sparks flaking around the now singed door frame. Out of breath, undoubtedly from the energy it took to break through the charms, Seamus Finnigan stumbled forward and cried, "They're coming!" _

_..._

_ Ernie whipped around on his invisible horse, hoping that the reigns, fastened seemingly to nothing, would hold as the mysterious animal beneath him helped dodge another set of flying sparks. Trying desperately to remember some of the maneuvers he and Ron had been through, Ernie was unsuccessfully navigating the skies of Hogwarts trying to find any evidence of the Dark Army. What began in shadow had erupted in chaos and the visible residue of spells being cast were all he had to go on as he tried to sort out what exactly the Dark Army had done. _

_ It was a full-out invasion. That much was obvious. Shadow had quickly covered every inch of the grounds and had even seeped into the Hogwarts courtyard. Hagrid's hut had completely faded from sight, although he could hear Ginny Weasley through the new amplification charm trying to locate her scouts in the forest. The lake too, could no longer be distinguished from the black earth. Ernie tried to use the charm too, but he couldn't concentrate enough to focus his speech through the proper channels. So he was left to listen…listen and dodge. _

_ "Ernie!" he heard close by. He looked up and saw Cho Chang, alumnus and fellow Shadow Guard member, hovering in mid-air above him. _

_ "Cho, can you see anything?" he asked._

_ "No! Ahh!" her invisible thestral yanked her sideways, avoiding a blast from behind. "When did it start?" _

_ "Just a few minutes ago—look out!" Ernie watched in horror as Cho narrowly dodged another attack. "Bloody hell!"_

_ Cho struggled and steadied herself on the massive animal. It was quite strange to be in the sky without a broom. It was even stranger to be riding atop something she couldn't see. "I heard Ginny through the charm! She said she saw members of the Dark Army!"_

_ Ernie scanned the surface but all he saw was blackness. "Blimey, how can she tell?"_

_ Cho tugged on her reigns. "Let's get closer!"_

_..._

_ "How many are there?" Harry asked._

_ "Couldn't tell. Couldn't see a bloody thing!" Seamus said wildly. _

_ "Couldn't see?"_

_ "What're you talkin' about?"_

_ Seamus shook his head impatiently. There was just no way to describe it. "Everything is black, Harry. Everything! It's like Hogwarts has been covered in it!"_

_ Lupin stepped forward. "Covered in _what_ Seamus?"_

_ "Bloody hell, you want me to _explain _it to you? What you waiting for? Come see for yourself! Mount up! 'Wands at the ready' and all that rubbish!" _

_ Hermione glanced nervously between Harry and Seamus. "Harry, we have to finish," she said._

_ Harry growled, "Hogwarts is under attack, Hermione. What d'you want me to do?"_

_ She was adamant, determined that they go through with it, now more than _ever. _ But it was Ron who answered. "Finish what you started, mate," he said. "We'll handle the rest."_

_ Harry looked between the two and thought suddenly of his father. _This must be what it felt like_, he thought. _This must be what it felt like when he left them. When he went into hiding. _Instinctively he looked at Lupin, the only true Marauder left. But even Lupin_ _was looking at _him _for answers. He wanted to cry. He wanted so desperately to cry because, suddenly, he couldn't remember the last time he had. _

_ "Ron?" he said, looking between both him and Hermione. Ron waited patiently for the last order he would receive from Harry Potter. "Get to the Guard. Get as many people up in the air as possible and find out what's going on."_

_ Ron nodded and extended his hand. Harry clasped it in his own. "Good luck, Harry."_

_ "You too," he said and let it drop. "Everyone who doesn't need to be here get to your people. Hold Hogwarts at all costs!" he commanded. "Seamus—Ah!" Suddenly he convulsed, gripped his forehead and slammed his eyes shut._

_ "Harry?" Seamus started moving forward. _

_ But Ron held him back, "Come on we've gotta go. Dad! Fred!"_

_ "Ron what's—"_

_ "No time! Let's go!" Ron ushered everyone out of the Great Hall, pausing only a moment to glance back at Hermione who was trying to get Harry to focus. She caught his eye and nodded. "Be careful," he whispered more _for _her than _to _her. Then he was gone._

_ Only Hermione, Harry and the four sentinels were left. And for once, George Weasley's face had not a trace of irony. "Hermione what's wrong with—"_

_ "We're running out of time. Harry?" she said, funneling her potion into five vials._

_ "He's close," Harry growled, his eyes still shut tightly. _

_ "Remember to focus, Potter," Snape said anxiously. "Keep it dark. Keep him out!"_

_ "I know!" Harry cried, reeling on his former Occlumens tutor. "Bloody hell, just get into position!"_

_ "All right, everyone remember what they're to do?" Hermione asked, distributing vials. _

_ The rest nodded. And the work began._

_..._

_ "REVELIO!" Cho cried, pointing her wand in the general direction of a spell she had just dodged. Heavy winds carried it astray._

_ "It's no use, Cho! Revealing charms aren't working. Can't see a blasted thing!" Ginny shouted back, herding her scouts returning from the woods back up the hill to the castle. _

_ "Ernie said you saw Death Eaters?"_

_ "No, I'm _guessing_ it's Death Eaters! I saw green streaks!"_

_ Cho turned a shade paler. "The Killing Curse?" she cried, struggling to be heard over the violent winds that had arrived moments after the shadows. _

_ "Yes and if we don't—" but something caught her eye above them. "Ron look out!" she screamed as she watched her brother's thestral whip him out of harm's way. _

_ "Bloody, hell that was close," Ron shouted swooping down. "Ginny, hop on!" he yelled, hovering close to the ground. _

_ "I can't! Colin's still out in the woods! I'm waiting for him to—ah!" Ginny flung her arms across her face as Ron's thestral shoved her to the ground. _

_ "Hey, hey! Easy, Chudley!" Ron yanked on the reigns._

_ "Ron look," Cho pointed to the scorch marks inches from Ginny's sneakers. _

_Ron examined the marks from his saddle and then gave his thestral a scrutinizing look. "Is it just me or—"_

_"Chudley can see the attackers," Ginny said, realization dawning on her face as Ron pulled her up from the ground. "They all can. Cho's dodged a spell just a few minutes ago."_

_Ron thought for a moment and then shook his head. "Ok well I don't know what to do with that right now. It's not like we can talk to the bloody beasts," he patted Chudley's pelt fondly then extended his arm toward Ginny. "Come on. We'll figure it out when we get to the castle. I told Ernie to tell everyone to fall back. The shadow hasn't touched the school yet."_

_"I told you I'm waiting for Colin!" Ginny's hands came to her hips. "You want me to just leave him out there?"_

_"I'm not gonna stand here and argue with you Gin! Colin's probably safer where he is!"_

_"Ron that's ridiculous!"_

_"Dad's here! Do you really want Dad to watch his only daughter _die _out of stubbornness!—"_

_"It's all right, Ron," Cho jumped in. "She can ride with me." She swooped down near Ginny. "We'll circle the area until Colin shows up."_

_ Ginny nodded gratefully to Cho and then looked at her brother. Ron shook his head and sighed, knowing full well that Ginny was not going to budge on this. "Fine," he said. "As _soon _as he gets back, the three of you head for the castle."_

_ They nodded and Ron took off._

_..._

This is a mistake! _Harry thought, standing in the middle of the Great Hall, encircled by a ring of stones. _This is one massive, colossal, Aragog-sized mistake! _He wanted to scream. He wanted to call the whole thing off. Hogwarts was under attack and four more people were putting themselves at risk for his sake. For a moment, Harry could not remember why or when he ever agreed to this. But there they were. Surrounding him. His Sentinels. Harry felt ill._

_ The stones had been charmed with protection spells and hex-repellents in case of unwanted interruptions. Each Sentinel also held a stone along with one of Hermione's vials – vials filled with a potion potent enough to allow even muggle-born Dean Thomas to tap into ancient magic…if only for a moment. And since blood was the basest and most elemental part of the wizard's soul, Dean was to go first. _

_ Harry watched as Dean stepped forward, desperately wanting to snatch the vial from his hand. _No! Stop! I'm not worth it! _He screamed inside his head. But outwardly, he remained silent. He had to…for he wasn't the only one inside his head anymore. _

_ Dean drank slowly, shuddering as the bubbling liquid coated his throat. He cast the empty vial aside, drew his wand and aimed it toward Harry's heart. "Blood of a muggle, yours to mine. Pax in vestris anima!" At once, flames of bright orange and green rose from the stones on the ground. Harry jumped in alarm as they surrounded him. Dean looked scared too but his wand was steady. Their eyes locked as Dean held his stone to his chest and finished. "FINITE FIDELIUS INCANTATUM!" _

_ The flames spiraled around Harry like a fast whirlwind and then shuttled away from him, funneling and twisting into an iridescent band of energy, looping itself around Dean, into the tip of his wand, _through _Dean himself and then coming to rest in the stone. The Great Hall was silent, Dean and Harry staring widely at each other, unable to move, to breathe, to describe, to think about what had just happened. The stone itself glowed in soft orange pulses but it did not burn. The link had been formed. _

_ "Harry?" he heard from the corner, where Hermione was keeping a watchful eye on the spell that would become one of many of her legacies. "Harry do you—"_

_ "NO!" Harry cried, gripping his forehead. _

_ Hermione rushed forward and Dean staggered back. "How's that possible?" he cried, still clutching his wand. " I know it worked, I felt something go through me!"_

_ "No it's ok," Harry said through clenched teeth. And then he turned to Hermione and flashed her a frightening…almost evil grin. "He's angry." _

_ "What?"_

_ "Who's angry?" Luna cried._

_ "Voldemort."_

_..._

_ "EXPECTO PATRONUM!" Arthur Weasley yelled as a silvery-white seal sailed out from his wand and floated aimlessly away from them, disappearing at once into shadow._

_ "It's no use, Dad," Fred yelled above the wind. "They aren't dementors!"_

_ "I know that but we have to try something," Arthur said, trying _not_ to think about just how many of his children were scattered about the castle right now doing Merlin knows what and himself at a loss to help them. "See if you can call Ron again!"_

_ "Just did," Seamus called, repeatedly tapping his wand to his throat, trying to reestablish the connection. "The shadow is muffling the amplification charm. Bloody bastards!" _

_ The small group was gathered by the castle entrance, throwing out every random spell they could think of into the courtyard. Every one of them, so far, had been engulfed by shadow. Members of the DA and Order could see each other and the grounds just fine. But everything else was simply evaporating. _

_Ron had ordered everyone to fall back to the castle as the shadow hadn't yet penetrated the walls, but they had already sustained some casualties…and they couldn't stay locked up in the castle forever. _

_ McGonagall and Lupin were rushing up from the dungeons below with Professor Trelawney scuttling close behind. "What shall we do Minerva?" she cried, her frail bony hands visibly shaking underneath her cloak. _

_ "Silence, Sybill," McGonagall snapped impatiently. She turned to Lupin as they reached the others. "Professor, what is going on in the Great Hall? Is there any way to postpone? Can they spare Miss Granger?"_

_ Lupin sighed, looking meaningfully at Arthur Weasley. "I'm afraid not, Professor. To interrupt them now would…no we must ensure they are allowed to continue."_

_ McGonagall shook her head, "Fine." She eyed Fred and Seamus. "I am open to suggestions, gentlemen." _

_ "I've got one, Professor," came a voice outside. Ron swooped down within an inch of McGonagall's nose, standing right at the threshold of the castle door. _

_ "Ron, where is Ginny?" Arthur asked._

_ "With Cho. She's safe," Ron lied. He turned back to McGonagall and pointed to Chudley. "_They _can see them."_

_ "What?"_

_ "Who can?"_

_ "The thestrals."_

_ Lupin stepped forward, "Ron are you sure?"_

_ "He's right!" came another voice. Ernie had hovered in as well, his own thestral pumping its massive wings impatiently. "Mine has been dodging spells left and right!" _

_ McGonagall thoughtfully stroked the soft black hair on Chudley's head, "All right. So thestrals can see through the shadow," McGonagall mused. "That must mean the dark army cast some sort of charm, blanketing themselves from sight just as the thestrals are from those who have not yet witnessed death."_

_ "Yeah, but if that's true," Ron said, steadying Chudley who was getting restless indoors, "Why can't I see them? I mean…" he looked over at Lupin, "I can see thestrals." _

_ Lupin crossed his arms over his chest. "It must be a different trigger then. One we don't time to figure out." _

_ "But the process of seeing thestrals is natural," Arthur said. "It's always been that way. The shadow is different. Someone must be controlling it, maintaining the blackness."_

_ Ron's face went slightly pale as he recalled Harry's sudden collapse in the Hall. "Voldemort," he said quietly, ignoring the shudders from Ernie and Trelawney. "Voldemort. It's gotta be him."_

_ "Why?"_

_ "He's the only one powerful enough to affect all of Hogwarts like this. He's gotta be close. If we can—"_

_ "Look out!" Trelawney screamed as green streaks came flying at Ron. But Chudley was ready and lifted Ron out of the way._

_ "Crikey, you weren't kidding mate!" Fred gasped in awe for all he had seen was Ron, perched atop his invisible horse, hurled out of harm's way. Then something caught his eye that he hadn't noticed before. Something dark and monstrous and powerful. It was shimmering slowly into view beneath…beneath Ron. Fred couldn't remember the last time he had been truly frightened of something. But those eyes. Those piercing glowing eyes stared into his soul like a raven shrouded in moonlight…eyes set into the face of a black beast breathing heavily and impatiently as it beat its massive hoofs against the stone courtyard. Fred took a raspy breath, "Bloody h—"_

_ "Dad!" Ron screamed, leaping off Chudley's back and tumbling to the threshold. And Fred knew before he even turned around. Chudley's eyes, harbingers of doom, would haunt him for the rest of his life. He could see thestrals now. His father was dead._


	17. It's Time

**Summary: Hermione had a baby, Ron was a POW and Harry has…returned. An account of the 2nd great wizarding war, of battles still to be won, and the love that endures. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters, their world or their toys. **

**Author's Note: **Okie dokie…REMINDER: STORY STARTED WAAAAAAAY BACK BEFORE HALF-BLOOD PRINCE WAS RELEASED. Now, it is definitely an AU fiction. (And by the way, I made myself a little promise that I would NOT finish the 7th book until I finish this story…so please don't ruin it for me!)

Sacred Bonds

by Rebecca

It's time

Ron didn't often like to think about the Day of Shadows. Chudley had been quite enough of a reminder throughout the past three years. But standing here now…looking at her lifeless, pale form…it brought back those memories, those feelings of pure hatred that had pushed him to the edge.

The trek back from Godric's Hollow had been a swift and quiet one. Ron was still unsure about why Harry needed the Sorcerer's Stone. Nothing of what Harry told him about his travels explained its purpose. It certainly seemed to have outlived its usefulness way back when they were first years but there were many things Harry understood now that the rest of them didn't. And quite frankly, Ron had more pressing concerns at the moment.

Shortly after leaving the Hollow, Harry and Ron received communications from Lupin. Hermione had gone into labor…and something had gone wrong. She had been moved from her confinement at her forest cabin to Mungo's and her condition had not changed. Ron knew there was always a chance of facing…well, something like this. With his father's death and Ginny's illness, Ron supposed it was just a matter of time before the whole Weasley clan fell apart. But perhaps it was a husband's blind optimism that had prevented him from thinking that this fate would extend to his wife. She was a Weasley now, sure enough. But she was also Hermione. Hermione Granger. She was just…too smart for something like this to happen!

Never had he seen her so pale. Not even during their second year with the basilisk had her face been sheet-white, her freckles this spotty and discolored. This…was not his wife. Ron watched as Order-trained medi-witches moved quietly about the bed, murmuring incantations they hoped would keep her comfortable. Fists clenched tightly by his sides, Ron nearly lashed out at the well-intentioned staff whose pointless ministrations would have driven Hermione mad. _Rubbish!_ She would say to them now…if she could. A medi-wizard was explaining what little he understood of her condition, but it was too much. Too much too fast. He had barely gotten himself used to the fact that she had been pregnant in the first place and now this? This infuriating, maddening story about dream-walking and anchors and premature labor and Neville Longbottom? Neville Longbottom! Where was Neville? He wanted to wring someone's neck. Neville's would do. And the baby…bloody hell, where was the baby?

Harry, leaning against the wall across from Hermione's room, stood and watched. Now, seeing Ron stare helplessly at his childhood friend, he couldn't help but feel it. All of it.

"Mr. P-p-potter?" came a mousy voice beside him. He sighed, futilely hoping to preserve some degree of anonymity given their rather discreet arrival. But that wasn't likely. Patiently, he turned to the young witch. "Mr. Potter, you had inquired about Miss Weasley," she said. The girl couldn't have been more than 16 or 17. Her stringy blond hair and blue eyes reminded him very much of a young Luna Lovegood …_Luna_, he thought. _I shouldn't be here_. It was happening though. Just as the old man said it would. His ties to this world. These people. They were distracting him. "Miss…Ginny Weasley, sir?" They would ruin him.

"Yes…er….where?" he asked, pushing himself off the wall. He supposed Ron had registered they were talking about his sister because he flinched, but showed not the slightest sign of following him. Harry gestured for the witch to lead the way and he followed her down the eerily silent corridor. Had he thought to ask, Harry might have found out that his young guide's name was Melanie Davies, Roger Davies' cousin, and had been working at Mungo's ever since her own mother had passed here a few years ago. He might also have learned that Roger's name had been legitimately cleared by the Aurors last spring after the Stoatshead massacre, his role attributed to the Imperius curse, and that he had played a rather instrumental role in the recent victory at Azkaban. But the pair walked in silence to the lifts at the end of the hall and ascended up towards Ginny's wing. It wasn't until they were just upon her room that they heard the commotion.

"Coming! Coming, he's coming! Let me out! LET ME OUT!" her screams were deafening. And it seemed the entire staff of Mungo's had arrived to sedate her. But Ginny Weasley would not be silenced. "HAVE TO SEE! LET ME SEE!" Harry had been told about Neville's campaign and about the liquid Cruciatus. He knew exactly what had happened to Ginny, and perhaps it was his own cruel handle on reality that had oddly prepared him for what he would see as he stepped into the room. Melanie left his side immediately and joined the other witches and wizards straining to hold her down to her bed. One elderly wizard was mumbling some half-learned half-improvised incantation. A motherly-looking witch had her wand poised and shaking as if she were dangerously close to having to stupefy the patient. Several of the young witches, including Melanie, were entwined in a chaotic entanglement of limbs and bed-sheets as Ginny's wild and untamed red hair flailed about. To the casual observer, the scene bordered on ridiculous. To Harry it was horrifying.

"Hullo Gin," he said quietly. Time seemed to freeze. Ginny whipped herself around, her frenzied glare penetrating his own as she half-stood, half-knelt on the bed. Her right arm clutched the post, her left arm restrained by Melanie. Medi-wizards also seemed to have frozen, their hands clutching to various parts of Ginny's arms and legs that for a blessed moment were still.

"You!" she whispered fiercely and pulled against those attending her. "Let me SEE!" she hissed, starting to struggle free again.

"It's all right," Harry said, waving them off. And being either frightened of the young Weasley or in awe of Harry, the Mungo staff hung back.

"What are you DOING here?" Ginny cried as she advanced on him. Harry didn't even flinch and soon, she was right in front of him.

"I'm just…passing through," he said carefully, holding her mad gaze.

Ginny's breaths were sharp and irregular. Her hair was…longer than he had remembered. She had scratches on her arms, no doubt self-inflicted, and her clothes which looked fairly new, were torn as if someone had struggled to put her in them.

"She usually isn't this upset, Mr. Potter. She's only been like this for a few days. Usually she's quite—"

"You shouldn't BE here!" Ginny interrupted the clumsy diagnosis.

Harry nodded slowly. "I know," he whispered.

This answer seemed to be acceptable to Ginny for she pulled back slightly, planting herself a few feet away from him. Something shifted in her eyes. For an instant she looked very confused, as if she were trying desperately to remember something. "Tell me…w-when it's over?"

"That's right, Ginny," he said quietly, moving closer. Gently, he touched his hand to her cheek and sighed, "when it's over."

"When you come home," she said. Melanie and her coworkers gaped at the first coherent words uttered by their patient in months. Harry nodded, still cupping her face in his hands. "But you're not home," she said, tilting her head to one side as if pondering his very existence.

"No, I'm not."

"It's time," she said urgently, her breathing growing erratic again. "They're all coming! It's time to—"

"Sleep, Ginny," he held her forcefully now, not letting her look away. "It's time to sleep." His hands had dropped to her shoulders and he closed his eyes, squeezing her arms tight.

"You shouldn't be here," she echoed herself, her eyes getting heavy.

"I know, Gin," he whispered, his eyes still closed, and he concentrated, much as he had with Ron in the forest. _You shouldn't be here_, she kept saying and she was right. Not even liquid Cruciatus had robbed Ginny Weasley of her intuition. Harry focused on an image of a snitch hanging from a silver chain, an image that he'd held to despite all the old man's objections, and let it pass finally from his mind…to hers. _Let go of me_, he said to her, though his voice made no sound. _Let go of me now…and sleep_. Ginny fell limp in his arms, her breathing slowed, and soon, the Mungo's staff was instantly by his side, guiding her to the hospital bed. Melanie Davies' mouth hung open and tears welled in her eyes as she watched a peaceful Ginny Weasley sleeping soundly.

"M-m-mister Potter…h-how—"

"Her mind needs to heal before the rest of her can. Now maybe she'll have a chance," Harry said, watching as they covered her with blankets and pulled the shades in the room.

"Yes, I understand that but…sh-she's resting! Mr. Potter we used every sleeping charm we could think of—"

"Keep a close watch on her. Make sure someone is here in case she wakes up," he removed his glasses and pinched the ridge of his nose.

But Melanie's curiosity had won over her adulation of Harry. "Of course, sir, but I must ask," she touched his arm tentatively. "What did you do?"

"That's not important—"

"Come on, now's not the time for humility," he heard in the doorway. Harry turned around and wasn't at all surprised to see Ron leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, eyes shifting from Harry to his sister and back to Harry again. "What _did_ you do?" he echoed Melanie.

Harry hesitated only a moment, stealing a last glance at Ginny before he shook his head. "We have to go," he said and he pushed past Ron, heading back down the corridor.

Ron followed in close pursuit. "You healed her didn't you."

Harry kept walking. He knew he shouldn't have come here.

"Stop doing that!" he grabbed for Harry's shoulder. "You healed her just like you healed me."

But Harry shook his head and kept walking, shoving his hands in his pockets, "No, _not_ just like you. With you there was enough left to save."

Ron's face turned a little green and he gulped hard. "You mean sh-she's not gonna…she _can't_ be saved?"

"I don't know," he said truthfully. "Like I told the medis, she's at least got a chance now."

They turned the final hallway leading out of Ginny's wing and up to the lifts. "All right and what about Hermione?"

Harry sighed, ignoring the glances and stares and whispers from passing Mungo's staff and patients as he answered, "What about Hermione?"

"Are you daft? She's in a bloody coma! Can't you help her?"

Finally, they reached the lifts and stepped aboard, "I'm sorry Ron, there's nothing I can do."

"Bollocks!" Ron yelled, pounding his fist against the wall as they started to descend. "You barely looked at her. You stood in the hallway and then went looking for Ginny!" he knew the accusation was unfair, but he didn't care. "She put her life on the line for you, Harry. She saved your bloody soul remember?"

"Don't you think I know that?" he asked, his voice calm despite Ron's hysteria. "Don't you think I would save her if I could? Look around you Ron," he gestured mildly to the wing before him as he stepped off. "I would save all of them if I could. But what Hermione's done to herself is something that _I_ can't fix."

Ron paused just as he stepped off to follow him. "Something _you_ can't fix," he repeated more to himself than to Harry. "But someone else can?" he challenged.

Harry ran his hand through his wavy black hair and met Ron's intense and questioning stare. "If anyone would know, it'd be you."

They came to a halt just outside the office of Hippocrates Smethwyck, Head-Healer at Mungo's. They would be using private floo fireplace to travel to Azkaban as it had been arranged that morning. Avoiding the rows of public fireplaces attached to the floo network in the lobby of the hospital would at least limit the rumors and murmurings already spreading.

"Hufflepuff!" Harry shouted as the bewitched door accepted the password and rotated open. Mr. Smethwyck was not inside, no doubt attending patients. The fireplace was just inside and Harry reached into his pocket for a small pouch of floo powder. "Look, you know there's still one hell of a battle to be won here. I won't pretend we don't need you."

Ron was looking down at his feet, trying to make sense of everything in his head. Harry seemed to be thinking of Hermione as if she was just another casualty and yet…Ron had the distinct feeling that Harry had just given him all the answers he would ever need for the rest of his life. "I can save her?"

"It's possible," Harry answered, stressing the word. He stepped into the office. "You coming?"

Ron sighed and shook his head. They held at the threshold in silence for a few moments and finally, Ron extended his hand. "Thanks," he muttered after some time, extending his arm, "for saving my life."

Harry clasped his hand and shook hard, trying to ignore the acute, knife-like twinge in his stomach as he beheld his oldest and dearest friend. "It ends at Hogwarts."

He nodded. "I'll be there. Just not…not yet."

Harry dropped his hand and turned away, casually tossing a fistful of floo powder into the fireplace. Green flames roared to the ceiling and Ron stepped backward and waited, feeling like he should say something else.

"You're a part of her, you know," Harry said, almost startling Ron.

"What?"

Harry was still looking at the fire. This time he would not meet Ron's gaze. "You're a part of her…and she's a part of you. Never forget that." Then, he was gone.

...

There were quite a few more fireplaces added to the network since he'd been away. Some of the network connections were sloppy and some looked like Bill Weasley himself had established the security charms around the exits. He watched and waited for Azkaban. _She saved your bloody soul, remember?_ Of course he remembered…that wasn't something anyone could forget.

_"Mind of the phoenix, his eyes opened. Pax in vestris anima." Luna's small voice had much weight this evening. Dean stood next to her, clutching his stone, still pulsing in his hand and George and Snape looked on as Luna started to form the next bond. She had always been an odd sort of girl, spouting theories no one had ever heard of, believing in the fantastical myths and rumors not even ordinary witches and wizards could bring themselves to accept or believe. That was perhaps the reason she was an ideal choice to protect the dimension of Harry's mind…hers was always wide open, ready to accept anything as she now accepted Harry. _

_Harry held his breath as bright blue and red flames danced from the stones around him, waiting for her to finish. "FINITE INCANTATUM FIDELIUS!" she cried and at once the flames twisted and circled and fused into a band of pure energy, wound itself around Luna and hurled into her wand. Luna staggered back, nearly knocked to the floor by the force of the spell. But she held her ground and then, quite calmly, tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear and smiled. "Well… that was quite different."_

_Harry couldn't agree more. Something was definitely happening and he waited, standing very still as almost hoped Voldemort would try again._

_Hermione stepped forward cautiously from behind George. "Harry? Is he still—"_

_"Not yet," he said quietly. He looked to Luna, suddenly very concerned. He had just transferred stewardship of his mind to this girl. And it was his mind that Voldemort had been using all along. "How do you feel?" _

_Luna chewed her lip thoughtfully. "A little hungry, Harry. A little hungry."_

_George laughed outright as Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well hide somewhere with lots of good food then. Come on Harry, let's—"_

_"Ah—NO!" Harry grabbed a fistful of his hair and clenched hard. "Dammit!"_

_"What, what is it?" Hermione cried. _

_This time it was Snape who answered. "He's trying harder. He's getting in any way he can at this point. It's working but we must finish!"_

_Hermione nodded and gave George a slight shove. George stepped into position and raised his wand. _

_..._

_"CONFRINGO!" Ron screamed, sending waves of red light jetting out from his wand. _

_"Ron! We still can't see anything! Come down from there!"_

_"EXPULSO!" he cried, sending another harmful spell out into nothingness. Ron didn't seem to hear them as he took Chudley higher, climbing toward the heavens trying to send the Death Eaters to hell._

_"Look out!" Ernie cried as he dodged another Killing Curse flying their way. _

_McGonagall glanced down at Arthur's crumpled body, still lying beside the stone steps of the castle. "If we don't do something soon we'll all end up this way."_

_"How?" Ernie asked, dusting himself off. "The only ones that can see them are the thestrals."_

_"Then we use them as our eyes and ears," she said. "ACCIO BROOM!" she cried, aiming her wand toward the trophy case just inside the hall. A nimbus 6000 in the Quidditch display crashed through the glass and came to rest in McGonagall's hand. _

_"Mr. Weasley," she turned to Fred who was still standing, staring at his father. "Fred!" she cried, rattling him out of a dismal trance. Finally, he looked at her. "Now is the time for quick thinking. You must focus." She extended the broom. "Retrieve your brother before he gets himself killed and then head for Hagrid's cabin." He nodded without a word and robotically mounted the broom. Finally, he tore his eyes away from his father and flew after Ron. "Ginny and Cho were waiting by the woods for Mr. Creevy?" McGonagall asked, turning to Ernie. He nodded. "Let's hope they're still there."_

_..._

_"FINITE INCANTATUM FIDELIUS!" George's strong voice carried through the hall as flames roared around the Heir of Gryffindor, engulfing him in a dome of gold and red fire before it spun and wound and spiraled its way into George's wand. Hermione looked between the two, both obviously startled by the ferocity of the flames. But she couldn't quite contain her delight. The spell was working, getting stronger, growing in its intensity as each new bond was formed. She had been correct in assuming that the link between heart and lion would be very powerful given both Harry's lineage and the long history of Weasleys in the house of Gryffindor. George, now passed the initial shock, looked quite pleased with himself as he held tightly to the stone in the crook of his arm pulsing like fading embers. _

_"Hurry," Hermione said, glancing at the enchanted ceiling. She supposed whatever blackness Seamus had mentioned would have covered the castle by now if it could so the fact that the ceiling still reflected daylight was a good thing. Still, it hardly resembled a Hogwarts afternoon in May. She held her breath as the fourth and final sentinel stepped forward: Severus Snape._

_Harry and Snape glared at each other over a ring of stones. Once a long time ago, they thought he was a traitor: Envious of the dark arts, seemingly in league with the Death Eaters. Now the fate of the spell rested with him. Magic of the serpent. Snape was a Slytherin to be sure. But would the bond hold? Snape raised his wand. _

_"Eeeeeeeeaaaah! BLOODY HELL!" Hermione heard a cry but it wasn't Harry's._

_"NO! Oh, Hermione!" another cry. She looked around. All three of them – Dean, Luna and George – they were cringing, clutching their heads as Harry had been. _

_"Harry!" she shrieked, "they're—"_

_"I know!" Harry shouted, his expression a furious collision of panic and anger. "Remember your lessons! Shut him out!" he ordered, trying to remind them of their brief occlumens training. "Professor, now!"_

_Snape extended his wand again. "Magic of the serpent, yield to its power. Vires in Veneficus, Pax in anima!" At once, silver and black flames began to climb from the stones encircling Harry. Twisting and blazing in an illusion of blackened heat, it seemed as if the final bond would form as the others had. "FINITE INCANTATUM FIDELIUS!" And then it happened. The flames began to spread._

_..._

_"Ron! Ron stop!" Fred cried after his brother, struggling to keep pace with the monstrous black animal while still aboard his flimsy broom. Fred leaned to one side, dodging both green sparks flying toward him and red sparks straying wildly from Ron's own wand. "Crikey, Ron! You're gonna get us BOTH killed!"_

_Finally Ron pulled on Chudley's reigns and turned around. Fury and pain filled his eyes as he reluctantly flew down to meet Fred. "They killed him!"_

_"I know," Fred managed, his own eyes glued to the flying stallion. He couldn't look away from Chudley's glowing glare. It was as if it saw right through him. "Come on, we've gotta get back. We're no good to 'im like this."_

_"No good to who, Harry?" Ron snapped, betraying his true age for the first time in a long while._

_Fred finally tore his eyes away from Chudley and looked at his baby brother. "No…Dad."_

_Ron choked back a sob and shook his head. "He's dead! He's—" but something below caught his eye. "What the hell?"_

_..._

_Ernie flew Seamus over to Hagrid's while McGonagall, Lupin and Trelawney apparated across the grounds. Ginny and Cho were still there, anxiously scanning the edge of the forest while Cho's thestral kept the shadowed enemies at bay. _

_"Ginny!" McGonagall cried up to where they were hovering. "Any sign of Mr. Creevy?"_

_Ginny shook her head and then nodded to Cho. The two flew down to ground level where McGonagall was shoving through the door of Hagrid's hut. Immediately, she started rummaging around old cupboards and blowing open compartments that had been locked for over a year. "What are you looking for, professor?"_

_It was Lupin who answered. "The thestrals can see whatever it is that's attacking us."_

_"We know," Ginny glanced back at Cho, "we've noticed that too. So?"_

_"Oh you know Hagrid and his bloody animals," McGonagall huffed. "He was always trying to find a way to better communicate with beasts. There must be something here we can—"_

_"Minerva look!" Trelawney suddenly cried. Everyone turned, inching their way back toward the door of the cabin, and looked up the hill. Hogwarts was on fire. _

_..._

_Members of the D.A. all over campus halted their futile attempts to block invisible enemies as they watched black and silver flames engulfing the ancient castle. Those who survived the Day of Shadows would later describe it as a spectacular sight, for although the fire was hot and spread rapidly from the stone walls, it did not burn. From the bases of the cylindrical towers to the fabric pennants that waved on top, nothing burned but the fire itself. _

_Steadying himself on Chudley, Ron watched as they twisted and sputtered and sparked from within the castle. _Hermione!_ he thought desperately. But there was no time to act on it for the flames were fast and ferocious, expanding the fire's radius far beyond the castle itself. It covered the courtyard but left no scorch marks on the grass. Ron felt paralyzed, not out of fear but out of sheer wonder. The flames, black and blazing, seemed to be absorbing the shadow covering Hogwarts. And as it spread, the silver within the flames left a lingering trail. Ron looked at Fred who shook his head in amazement. When Ron turned back, something else caught his eye and he urged Chudley lower to get a closer look. One of the silvery vapors had gained momentum. It was dancing and swirling about like a patronus charm. Ron followed it closely and then it happened. Then he saw it. If he had blinked, he would have missed it completely. But he saw it. The vapor had uncovered something, as if it had lifted an invisibility cloak…off of a Death Eater. Ron gripped Chudley's reigns and plunged towards the ground._

_..._

_"Hermione! What's happening!" she heard someone scream. It sounded like Ron…no, George. Had to be George, but she couldn't tell. She'd been engulfed by blackness. Icy panic gripped her heart as the flames blazed around her. They didn't hurt but she couldn't see a thing. Frustrated beyond reason, and clawing her way through darkness, Hermione struggled to figure out what had happened. Of course, no spell like this had ever been attempted. This could be…normal? She doubted it. The forth bond should not have formed any differently than the others. No, this had to be the result of the shadow outside. The presence of dark magic so close to the Sentinel spell had opened some sort of rift, had amplified the serpent's magic being used on both sides and had literally blazed out of control. _

_Still fighting her way through blackness, Hermione finally bumped into someone. "George?" she called blindly. "George is that you? You need to get out of here. You need to find the portkeys—"_

_But it wasn't George. Hermione gasped as her vision cleared and she made out Harry's face amidst the flames. At least, it looked like Harry. But his eyes…his eyes were glowing white…like a thestral's. _

_"H-harry?" she cried, thoughts enough to fill a pensieve flying through her mind, most of them cursing herself for ever attempting this crazy spell. What had she DONE?_

_But he gripped her shoulders and she felt pure, almost electric energy coursing through her. "It's ok," he said, his voice low and affected in some way, as if multiplied and amplified by the swirling fire. And his eyes. Hermione couldn't tear her gaze away from that glow, as if he were peering into her soul. _

_"Harry what's happening to you?"_

_"I'm not sure," he said, half-laughing as he stepped back. She watched as he stretched his arms wide and all at once, white and silver bands of energy emanated from his hands and seemed to push the blackness back and then through the walls of the Great Hall. In seconds, flames had cleared the room and their sight had been restored. In the poignant silence that followed, Hermione and the sentinels, all standing pretty much where they had been before, gaped at Harry in awe as he lowered his arms. "But I don't think it's a bad thing." _

_She heard George chuckle nervously behind her but her eyes were still on The Boy Who Lived. The white glow was gone. He was Harry again. "What happened?"_

_"I don't know," he said again, the stillness of the room suddenly uncomfortable compared to the chaos that had surrounded them moments before. Harry looked to Snape who seemed just as stunned as the rest of them. "As soon as you established the forth link, I felt something," he looked back at Hermione. "Something…big."_

_"Ancient magic," she answered softly, biting back a grin. Maybe Harry was right. Maybe this wasn't a bad thing._

_"Had to be," Harry agreed, addressing the others as they all came closer, clutching their stones like life-preservers. "I mean I felt…powerful."_

_"So powerful you had to set the building on fire, mate?" Dean asked, almost shouting. He was clearly spooked._

_"I didn't mean to," he answered, almost defensively. "I just remember thinking 'I need to help the people outside. Gotta fight this…shadow'," he paused and looked back at Hermione, "and that's what happened." _

_None of them dared speak. It was all too fantastic to be believed. Outside, Ron and the surviving members of the D.A. were fighting the now visible Death Eaters who, thrown by their discovery, had already begun to retreat. They would win. They would hold Hogwarts at all costs. The first official battle over Hogwarts' grounds in 17 years would end in victory._

_Finally, it was Luna who broke the silence. "Harry, what about…Voldemort?"_

_He looked up, suddenly remembering what had happened just before Snape finished the spell. "Do you feel him?" She shook her head. Harry looked at the others who did the same. His eyes rested on Snape for a moment…and then he smiled at Hermione, "I think he's gone."_

_Snape stepped forward, having regained his composure. "For now, Potter." He turned to the rest of them, "We can't let this opportunity go to waste."_

_The Sentinels nodded and without a word, retreated to their corners of the Great Hall, heading for their previously charmed portkeys. These objects would instantly take them to distant corners of the world where they would live…and wait…and prepare for his return. _

_"No!" Harry suddenly cried, his voice cracking, "Wait, please. Didn't you see what I did? Maybe you don't have to go. Maybe there's no need –"_

_"Harry," Hermione said softly, touching his arm, "It's time."_

_Harry sighed as a tear escaped down his cheek, knowing she was right. He had miles ago before he'd be able to reach that level of power again. And he watched as one by one, the new guardians of his mind ascended toward the enchanted ceiling and disappeared._

_In the eerie silence of the hall, as the battle raged outdoors, Harry and Hermione stared at each other. She was right. It was time. Time for their paths to separate. Time to begin the quest…for Camelot._


	18. AUTHOR'S INTERLUDE

**AUTHOR'S NOTE - INTERLUDE**

**...**Here begins the third and final part to _Sacred Bonds_. There's not that much left to go and I thank the readers who have kept with this so far (for so long!) Keep in mind that I started this before the 5th book came out so there will be _many _differences.

This next chapter is dedicated to Serengeti Dawn who has been my most faithful reader throughout this whole process!

We're getting close to the end now, only a few chapters to go.

Hope you enjoy!

And.....**Happy Birthday SD!!!!!! - August 12, 2009**


	19. Back to Basics

**Summary: Hermione had a baby, Ron was a POW and Harry has…returned. An account of the 2nd great wizarding war, of battles still to be won, and the love that endures. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters, their world or their toys. **

**Author's Note: **As always, keep in mind that this was written before _Half-Blood Prince _came out. (I have not even finished reading the 7th book so this is most definitely AU).

Sacred Bonds: by Rebecca

Part III

Back to Basics

When the letter had first arrived, Harry had thought it was some appalling joke, sent through the owl chain to conceal the identity of whatever sick Death Eater had concocted the idea – a message from his mentor…sent from beyond the grave. Unbelievable. Dumbledore hadn't been dead more than two days before it had arrived in Hedwig's trusted beak and his first instinct had been to burn it in the potion lab. It was the old headmaster's handwriting, certainly, but that could easily be forged. And it called upon him to seek out something that, according to Professor Binns, was pure fantasy. Embellishment at best.

But it soon became clear to Harry that it was no trick. No illusion. Albus Dumbledore had bequeathed many trinkets and possessions to Professors McGonagall, Lupin, Snape, Flitwick and others. He had left Hermione the book on the Hogwarts Founders. But he had left Harry…a quest:

_**Dear Harry,**_

_**You will, I am sure, be alarmed upon receiving this letter. After all, I am dead. It is the one fate of man that muggles and wizards alike must face and our choices, even in death, must be made wisely. To that end, I should mention that when you find yourself facing death in the eye, I suggest you leave your most precious wishes with Fawkes. Remarkable creature, that Phoenix. I have no doubt that he found Hedwig straight away, as soon as I breathed my final breath. **_

_**You will, of course, be wanting proof: When Hagrid first found you, he "accidentally" hexed your poor cousin who promptly grew a pig's tail. Your first Christmas at Hogwarts was spent mostly under your father's invisibility cloak, and you and Miss Granger once used a time turner to save a Hippogriff from execution. I would happily elaborate further, Harry. You have provided the halls of Hogwarts with many a legendary tale in your short time here, but I am afraid time is not on our side. My death has only bought a short amount of it. The rest is up to you.**_

_**I regret having to remind you of this burden, but as you are well aware, you inherited it on the same night you received your infamous scar. The answers you seek lay where it all began. Before Hogwarts. Before Gryffindor and Slytherin. The answers lie in Camelot…**_

The answers lie in Camelot…he had read the words a dozen times, convinced they were a trick but the more he read, the more it made sense. He couldn't quite describe it. Anyone else would have thought he was mad for suggesting it. For one thing, Professor Binns had assured them (an endless number of times) that the legend of Camelot, Arthur and the round table were all rubbish. Tales compounded into legends, fabricated by descendents of Merlin, who was powerful of course, but never once transfigured a boy into a fish or an ant. But it was suddenly as clear in Harry's mind as the ink on the letter sealed with Dumbledore's own hand. The answers lie in Camelot…and that's exactly where he'd ended up.

The letter had implored him not to tell a soul about where he was to travel_…_**_not even Ron or Hermi_one**…he wrote, the use of his friends' first names a testament to their unique bond. Harry hadn't typically heeded these kinds of warnings, but for some reason, he had complied with this one. He knew, somehow, this was different – that nagging, aggravating knowledge that came from within him; that same feeling he'd had years ago as he stood in a petting zoo and willed a pane of glass out of existence. This was something he needed to do alone.

Voldemort had to be stopped and Dumbledore somehow knew that the Dark Lord's defeat would only come once Harry had fulfilled his destiny. So when Hermione presented a plan that offered him the freedom to seek out whatever answers he was told to find, she'd had no idea that Harry already knew where he needed to go. And until the Day of Shadows, the only thing that stood in his way was his own reluctance to give up everything he'd held dear…

**…_This journey will not be easy Harry because it is a quest meant for you alone. Those whom you have come to trust over the years cannot join you. Do not misunderstand me. Your friends and allies are more than worthy. It is simply a physical impossibility. Only you can open the door to the past…_**

The cryptic letter was maddening. Why couldn't Dumbledore ever be clear about anything? But Harry hadn't stayed angry for long. He couldn't afford to. There were more important things to do, battle strategies to plan, legions to organize, weapons to create. And when it was finished, when the spell was complete and Hogwarts was free of shadow, Harry had disappeared quietly into the night and begun his trek.

Now he had returned. And time had not been good to the army he'd left behind; that much was clear the instant he'd arrived at Mungo's. Many of the D.A.'s very best had already perished and those who remained were worn and wounded to the core. Still, not even the windy and perilous shores of Azkaban could mask the hope in the air, hope brought (and for the most part, sustained) by the phoenix's majestic flight only days beforehand, as Remus Lupin told him only minutes after he'd stepped out of the floo fireplace in the old watchtower.

"Your arrival confirms the change in the status quo" Lupin said, having himself only returned to Azkaban a day before Harry after helping Neville get Hermione situated at Mungo's. He was now seated opposite Harry in one of the strategy tents, a Granger map hovering between them. "We've seen much dark activity here," he pointed to an area on the map, densely populated with black threads, twisting themselves into knots.

"Look at all that gold, huh Harry?" Seamus pointed out, beaming proudly.

Harry nodded, rewarding his most enthusiastic soldier with a grin.

"Since our battle here, D.A. spies have noticed movement all over," Kingsley Shaklebolt indicated places on the map where threads seemed to be retreating towards one concentrated area, southeast of Hogwarts.

"They're definitely regrouping," Harry said, leaning forward. "Won't be long now."

Seamus glanced up, "What won't be long now?"

Their eyes met. "The end."

...

_ Harry sighed as the green flames were extinguished and Lupin's head dissolved. Colin Creevy, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Arthur Weasley, and countless others. Dead. Just like that. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. Cedric, Sirius, Dumbledore – there were already many casualties of this war…except those were deaths he'd witnessed himself. These…he'd heard about via floo-powder._

_ He knew it could be worse. Death Eaters could have taken over the castle. Hogwarts could now be in the hands of Voldemort and his minions. But the D.A. had managed to protect its most important base of operations and in so doing, preserved a sense of hope. Hope that eventually, they would prevail. Still, Harry shuddered in imagining how Ron had reacted to the news that his father had been killed. Or how Ginny would blame herself for Colin's death. _

Stop it_, he thought, _just stop it. No good you drivin' yourself wonky before you even get started.

_ Brilliant…You're talking to yourself._

Not a good sign, Harry. You're probably going mad.

_ Already there mate…went mad as soon as you agreed to do this bloody spell. What the hell were you thinking?_

Oh shut up! Enough of this self-pitying rubbish. You have a job to do Potter. Get it done!

_ Harry massaged his temples and briefly wondered what was worse: having Voldemort constantly dream-walking, or having the mental echoes of his four sentinels imprinted in his brain, bouncing around his head like a nagging aunt._

_ The immediate hours after the Sentinel spell was cast had taken some getting used to. Having the cloak cast over his mind was a bit like having a muggle-made radio shoved into his head. For the most part his thoughts were clear but every once in a while he fell a bit out of sorts._

_ In the end though, it was hard for Harry to feel anything but gratitude. Since the spell had been cast, Voldemort hadn't invaded once. Not even close. It worked just as Hermione said it would and that meant he was one step closer to a solution. _

_ **"The answers lie in Camelot…only you can open the door to the past.**" Dumbledore's message didn't make any more sense now than it had when he first read the letter but Harry had a pretty good idea of where to start. If he had learned anything at Hogwarts, it was that the solution was always simpler than it seemed. The answers right in front of him. And Harry had copied enough of Hermione's notes in his past years of schooling to know that the answers had nothing to do with Glastonbury Abbey or the great King Arthur._

_ "_Camelot is hogwash_" Binns used to say, "_nothing short of fairy tales cooked up by literary hacks trying to spread their religion around Britain_." After reading Dumbledore's letter, Harry briefly considered that Binns might have been wrong: that Camelot was indeed home to the Knights of the Round Table and their entirely too famous quest for the Holy Grail. But he had dismissed that idea almost immediately._

_ First, Binns was about as old as Merlin anyway – ancient even before he died and continued teaching as a ghost. If the popular and typical stories of Camelot were true, Binns would know better than anyone. Second, Dumbledore would never have given Harry a quest that depended upon his…academic strengths. After all, Harry Potter was known for many things now. School was not one of them. _

_ No, he decided. The door to the past had to start with him. His quest. His past. And since Godric's Hollow was probably crawling with Death Eaters at the moment, under orders from Voldemort to find out what the hell had happened to him, Harry decided to start elsewhere: Number 4 – Privet Drive._

_ The journey to Surrey was longer than usual. He was wary of traveling by magical means but he figured a ride on the Hogwarts Express couldn't be too harmful. From the train station, he hopped a bus and headed for Little Whinging. Early on in his 6th year, Harry had sent his horrible aunt and uncle several clippings from the Daily Prophet highlighting reports about families of muggle-born witches and wizards being targeted by Death Eaters. Hermione, Seamus, Dean and countless others were terrified that their families would be next and while Harry felt no true kinship to the Dursleys, he certainly didn't want the blood of his mother's sister on his hands. The clippings were followed by a letter (which Hermione helped him…edit) imploring his Uncle Vernon to relocate the family. Full of gory details and assurances that their precious little "normal" lives were at risk, Harry was sure that Uncle Vernon would have stayed true to character and fled as far from Surrey as possible, leaving Harry no word of where to find them (which was fine with Harry), and that the little square house at Privet drive would be—_

_ Harry stopped cold just a few steps away from the house. "No!" he hissed aloud. No, they couldn't be that bloody stupid! Something was definitely…off. The exterior seemed normal enough but there was something in the air – an odor he hadn't realized he'd become so accustomed to. Number 4 Privet Drive reeked of death._

_ In three quick strides, Harry had leapt over the garden wall, kicked open the front door and stepped into the living room. At first glance, everything looked in order: the ugly matted carpeting, the faded beige and pink walls that his Aunt Petunia painted two years beforehand. But Harry had spent so little time here in those past few years that it took a few seconds to realize that the furniture was different. There was a brand new flat-screen tele hanging on the wall and a cheery looking sofa facing it. The original fireplace had been restored as well. And the dozens of snap shots of Dudley were gone. Dozens of tiny portraits of his stupid cousin, from the time he was a pudgy toddler until his days as Little Whinging's fattest LSD supplier, used to clutter every square inch of the tiny living room. But as Harry surveyed the walls, he found there was absolutely no sign that the Dursleys ever lived here. There was some beautiful artwork on the walls now, hanging next to little hummels in shadow boxes. In the corner stood two bookcases, generously filled with volumes of biographies, poetry, and fiction well beyond the reading level of the average Dursley. On the mantle of the fireplace were a few telling photographs. He didn't recognize the faces. And they were muggle shots so no one was moving. But for a split second, Harry envied them. Oh, how he envied them. Out of one of the frames grinned the faces of a young couple in wedding attire, the photograph aged and yellowed. In the second, the couple was posed on one of those plush department store platforms, with a gentle grey background. Between them sat a perfect, smiling baby girl. Harry picked up the third photo and gritted his teeth. This one showed the same couple, several years older, with their daughter (now a teenager) dressed in a cheerful blue jumper, hugging her father from behind. A family – a real and happy family._

_ "You daft prick!" he shouted out loud, his voice echoing through the house. He clutched the frame so hard, the glass cracked. "You sold the house? You sold THIShouse?"_

_ Blindly, he threw the portrait to the floor and the glass shattered. And when he looked down at the mess he'd made, something else caught his eye. He bent down, brushing shards of glass aside and then he saw it: flecks of green powder…floo powder. _

_ In seconds he was on his feet and racing up the stairs to the master bedroom. He flung the door open, wand at the ready, prepared to come up against anything. But it was too late. Forever too late. How long? How long had they been laying here? Hours? Days even? His insides churned and his stomach flipped over, and Harry Potter started to hurl. _

_ The father from the photo was sprawled out on the floor in his dressing gown and slippers, his eyes wide open and a cricket bat in his hand. The woman was slumped over, half hanging off the side of the bed with her grey hair pooled around her head near the floor. Nauseated, Harry dragged himself down the hallway to Dudley's old room and found the teenage daughter, also laying dead, a book frozen open in her hand. _

_ He'd sold the house. Vernon Dursely had sold the house. Oh he'd heeded Harry's warning all right. He'd protected his own arse and Petunia's and Dudley's – but not before making a little money first. Ignorant fool! He never once thought that maybe the house itself could still be a target – that it was best to simply leave…like he'd begged them to. And now these people, who had never in their lives seen a wand or a snitch, who were so wholly unconnected with his world, were dead. _

How terrible!

_ Bloody hell!_

How could you Potter? How could you assume so much about someone so oblivious?

_ Harry clenched his fists tightly at his sides, his knuckles turning white. The voices in his head sounded again like his sentinels, but the thoughts were his own. He had lost his parents, his godfather, his mentor, his friends. And until now, all of that for some reason seemed bearable. But not this. This…utter waste. All at once he felt a rage that seemed to have been building since Sirius's death, coiling inside, slowly suffocating him. Unable to tear his eyes away from the girl, a young woman who couldn't have been much younger than Ginny, Harry snapped. Pure, raw emotion coursed through him, the rage swelling. Slowly, he parted his arms, his movements instinctive. And without even waving his wand, the anger sprang forth from his body…and destroyed Number 4 – Privet Drive._

_..._

_ In the decades that would follow this era of wizard history, the muggle world would continue to be baffled by the suspected terrorist who had unleashed a weapon of mass destruction on an innocent family in Surrey, GB. Their world, also at war with far less definable foes, pondered the political gain of such an inexplicable target. The Ellerby family was hardly connected with any part of the crises in the Middle East and since Little Whinging was at least 30 miles from any truly important economic or military stronghold, the entire attack, to Surrey and the rest of the world seemed frighteningly random. _

_ The irony of course, lay in the fact that for the Death Eaters, this target was just as random. When the shadow was defeated at Hogwarts and Voldemort realized that his control over Harry had vanished, the Dark Lord had ordered a fury of searches, inspecting as many weak and unguarded suspected hideouts as possible. Had Harry shown up at Privet Drive mere hours beforehand, he might have risked capture…then again, his being captured seemed like a right corking idea to Harry at the moment. Camelot be damned. Dumbledore be damned. There were a few things he wanted to do to Voldemort right now…and he didn't think he needed any more of this door-opening-destiny-fulfilling rubbish to do them._

_Dozens of neighbors rushed to see what had happened to Number 4, but with Harry still standing atop the rubble in his black robes and fire in his eyes, onlookers didn't come much further than their front doors. Alone, Harry remained on what was left of his old house which had crumbled around him. The power he'd released was similar to that which he used to defeat the shadow at Hogwarts, but this felt far more potent…and uncontrolled. What AM I? he thought, as a real fear clutched at his heart. In the center of what was left of the house still stood the old cupboard where he used to live, the black door now chipped and rocked with debris. He stared at the door and tried to remember a time when he was just another student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The sad truth of course, was plain to him now. Harry was never a regular student at Hogwarts. He was powerful and dangerous…and lost. _

_And then, as if on cue, the cupboard door opened. Harry glanced around, expecting to be surrounded but the scene was quiet – just the creaking cupboard door, a flash of light and then—pop!_

_"Brilliant, Mr. Potter. Simply brilliant."_

_Harry stared, open-mouthed at the figure before him. His first thought was Dumbledore! But this was clearly not the case. This chap was shorter than Dumbledore. His hair was just as white but there was no beard. And Dumbledore always wore wizard robes. This man was dressed in a shabby tweed suit, black hobo gloves and a bowler hat. "Why don't you level the entire town whilst you're at it? Make sure they know right where to find you." His words were accusatory but his tone was almost jovial. Harry tentatively raised his wand. "Oh come now," said the man. "You don't really think you still need that oversized toothpick." _

_"Who are you?" Harry seethed._

_"Not important right now," he answered as sirens screamed behind him. "Unless you'd prefer to stay and answer for this."_

_Harry gulped, the magnitude of what he'd done without even thinking about it finally sinking in. "How did you find me?"_

_"Tracked you o' course. Second time you've used ancient magic in't it?" Harry gasped. Ancient magic. So it was true. That's what he'd done. Without elaborate spells or smelly potions. "Of course, ancient magic!" the gentleman said, reading his mind. "Couldn't very well come get you the first time could I? Too well-protected, that school."_

_"You're wrong, old man," Harry said, his voice shaky. "It was…this was just…anger. I-I completely lost control!"_

_To his surprise (and annoyance) the man chuckled. "Well it certainly was anger, Harry, but you hardly lost control. Look," he said. Harry looked down to where the man was pointing and started. The three bodies of the family lay side by side, untouched by the debris or chaos of the explosion…almost peaceful. "You had enough control to make sure their bodies were protected. Their kinsmen will see to it that they're laid to rest properly now, thanks to you."_

_At that, Harry scoffed. "Thanks to me? They're dead thanks to me."_

_The man sighed and shook his head. "Ah, classic martyrdom. Wart was the same way." Harry gasped. Wart. That sounded familiar. "Well, if that's the way you want play it, go right ahead. Stay here and feel sorry for yourself, young man. Doesn't matter to me one way or another." He tipped his hat and re-opened the cupboard door._

_"Wait," Harry said just before the man disappeared. He ran to the door. "Who are you?"_

_But the man smiled and shook his head. "I told you. That's not important right now." He opened the cupboard door wider and winked. "Did you want to see Camelot? Or was Dumbledore wrong about you?"_

_Harry peeked inside. It still looked like his old cupboard. But he knew better by now. He holstered his wand, nodded to the old man, and followed him inside._

...

The feelings of hope since victory on the shores of Azkaban had dwindled some with the news of Padma Patel's death and the other casualties of the last battle. Ernie MacMillan had been taken to Mungo's, there was still no new news on Hermione Granger and Dennis Creevy (the last surviving Creevy) was missing. But there was also cause to celebrate. Fred Weasley, it was rumored, had returned to his post at Dovetown from Hogwarts, having been fully cured of the Continuum Curse. Katie Bell had returned as well, and though Harry Potter had arrived at Azkaban securely by floo powder, concealed from the majority of D.A. and Order members on post, most could still feel his presence.

Following their strategy meeting, Lupin had taken Harry back to the Azkaban watchtower to arrange for him to travel to Hogwarts. Seamus and Shaklebolt had stayed behind to set the next chain of events into motion.

"There's a little village just outside of Stoatshead that's been a Dark Army stronghold for some time now," Seamus reported to select members of the Shadow Guard, Unregistereds,and ground troops. "We need to fortify Stoatshead and then set up checkpoints from there all the way up to Hogwarts."

With his wand, Seamus rotated the floating Granger map, highlighting the latest battle plan. The staff around him consisted of Oliver Wood, Cho Chang, Tonks, Lavender Brown, Mad-Eye Moody and Shacklebolt.

"Whadyou mean by checkpoints?" Mad-Eye asked, gruffly. "Are we setting up new bases of operations, boy? Because we don't have the manpower for that anymore."

"Not new bases, just…pockets."

Tonks cocked an eyebrow that today was bright pink, "Pockets?"

"Yeah. Handfuls of troops here and there who can thin the ranks as they approach Hogwarts."

"What makes you think they're gonna hit Hogwarts again?" Cho asked.

Mad-Eye coughed a few times and rolled his crazy eye, "Because, lass. That's all they have left to try."

"Not necessarily," Lavender cautioned. "They came pretty close to taking over this place."

"Three of them came close," Seamus corrected. "Remember? They didn't even know we were here in that many numbers."

"Besides, we gave Montague veritaserum after he claimed that galleon was Dean's." Wood added. Lavender caught her breath, remembering that awful feeling she had when she'd heard how the Death Eater tried fooling them into thinking Dean was dead. Seamus found and squeezed her hand as Wood continued. "Those three were acting alone that night."

Tonks nodded, "And most of my chaps have confirmed that the Dark Lord is definitely targeting Hogwarts again. I've had two fliers and two walkers circling Stoatshead for weeks. They've all overheard the same thing."

Seamus nodded. "All right then. Let's get on with—"

"Although," Tonks interrupted, a sly look on her face. "They heard something even more interesting than that this morning. Apparently Voldemort has been particularly on edge the past few days. Any idea why that might be, luv?"

"Not a clue, Nymphodora," Seamus continued to stare intently at the Granger map.

"Come on, mate," Wood folded his arms over his chest, looking back and forth between Seamus and Shacklebolt. "It's been all over the floo network. He's back ain't he? You were with 'im this morning with Lupin."

"Yeah and I got an owl post from Melanie Davies at Mungo's," Lavender whispered excitedly. "He did something to Ginny Weasley. Cured her or…or helped her or something!"

At that, Shacklebolt sprang forward, "She sent it via owl post? Christ! Just hang a banner at the Quidditch World Cup why don'tcha!"

"Quiet!" Seamus hissed, trying to maintain control of the session.

"So it's true!" Lavender grew so excited, she was rocking back and forth on the bench. "And if he's back, that means—"

"Look!" Seamus shouted, pushing himself off the bench. As he did so, the Granger map shimmered and then fizzled away. "Bollocks," he mumbled, flicking his wand with his wrist and drawing it up again. "Obviously there are a lot of rumors flying around and I'm not 'bout to deny any of 'um. But that doesn't change the fact that we've got a job ta do. And since we've got bloody owl posts flyin' around like big blinkin' alert beacons," he glared at Lavender who blushed as if just realizing how naïve Melanie had been, "we don't have a lot of time to do it, y'hear? Let's get to work."

...

The makeshift stables for the thestrals were several hundred meters down the shore from the strategy tent so Wood and Cho headed out immediately after the session. Cho mostly concentrated on where her feet were going since the walk was hardly a stroll on the beach. The chunks of shale and stone lining the edges of the island proved tricky to navigate, and it helped to focus her thoughts on something so concrete.

In the end, it was actually Wood who spoke first. "What you think 'bout all this?"

Cho threw him a sideways glance. "Seamus seems confident."

Wood shook his head. "Not what I asked, Chang."

"I dunno," she admitted. "Seems a bit risky putting so few in these smaller…er…pockets." She paused and then asked, "What do you think?"

"Harry's got the right idea," Wood responded without hesitation. "It's offensive, smart. Good to spread people out – give the Dark Army more to worry about."

For a moment, Cho felt embarrassed, as if Wood had been…testing her. And she'd given the wrong answer. Except…it didn't feel wrong. "But it gives them more targets too," she answered. "Smaller groups are more vulnerable."

"Not if they're well hidden. Well protected." He glanced down at her and slowed his pace. "Which…is our job – Cho!" he stopped and turned to face her. "Are you up for this?"

"Of course," she answered quickly, automatically. But her voice betrayed her fear. The battle plan was dangerous and would take every last man.

But Wood grasped her by the shoulders, bending his knees a little so his head was closer to hers. "Are you sure? Because I can't do this without you. I need you Cho."

Cho met his eyes, gazing at her so intently. Her breathing quickened and she swallowed hard. "You…y-you need me?" she asked.

Wood shook and cleared his head, realizing his error. "Well, yeah," he said as casually as possible. "We all need you," he said, and gestured down the shore to the stables.

Cho wanted to kick herself.

"Right," she managed, her voice hoarse and raspy. "Right," she said again and cleared her throat. "I know, I'm on board, Wood. Won't let you down."

They walked the rest of the way in silence.


	20. Sacred Bonds

**Summary: Ron realizes something VERY important… **

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters, their world or their toys. **

**Author's Note: **As always, keep in mind that this was written before _Half-Blood Prince _came out. (I have not even finished reading the 7th book so this is most definitely AU).

Sacred Bonds: by Rebecca

Part III

-Sacred Bonds-

It occurred to Ron that the last time he had been at Mungo's had been just after his father was killed three years ago. Random personal trivia such as this occurred to Ron quite frequently now. With Harry gone to Azkaban, there was no one to be supremely frustrated with, and he had successfully shooed all of the medi-witches and wizards away from his wife's room on account of their "being half-wits." It was only his second day here but he already felt as if he'd lived at hospital a week. In fact, he might have described himself as going a bit mad in this god-forsaken place…except he knew what that actually felt like and wasn't keen on reliving it.

Besides. Hermione was here.

Contrary to muggle practices, it was quite uncommon to bring a deceased witch or wizard to Mungo's to be "pronounced dead" as those blokes on the tele crime dramas would say. The death of a witch or wizard carried with it a degree of certainty and the wizardly world thought it unnatural to drag the family members of the deceased to a place that was wholly lacking in privacy to say goodbye. But when Arthur had been struck by the killing curse just minutes before Harry Potter had cleared Hogwarts of shadow, it was Ron who had insisted. After all, Hermione said it was ancient magic right? "Something might have gone through Dad." No one really believed it, of course. Not even Ron himself. But he had to be sure.

Much of those hours in the immediate wake of the Day of Shadows were a bit hazy to Ron. In fact, he couldn't even remember killing half of the Death Eaters he had apparently taken down once the shadow was lifted. But he remembered his mother's face. He remembered her walking towards them from the lift. He and Fred, Hermione and Ginny were all seated in the hallway as she approached them, tears streaming down her face. Ron was the first to reach her and as he embraced his mother, he heard her voice hitch in her throat. "I knew," she'd whispered. "I knew as soon as…" she'd hiccupped and clutched her youngest son close to her breast. "I just knew."

He had nodded, burying his head in her shoulder as they'd cried. Now, three years later, the tears wouldn't come. He had tried of course. Wife – lying unresponsive in hospital; no known cure…these were circumstances for which one cried. It was programmed into all human beings that way. But for Ron, all he felt was frustration, compounded by the endless strand of "if-only's" that haunted him. If only he hadn't gone out in search of Harry. If only he hadn't let himself be captured. If only she hadn't come to visit him that one…important night. If only we'd waited to get married. That last one hit him hard, almost as if he'd thought it against his will.

Their friends and family had certainly been surprised when they had announced their engagement. Not even a week following the Day of Shadows and his father's death, Professor McGonagall had cautioned that they were "making rash decisions based on heightened emotions that would only lead to more stress." Spoken like a true head-master! Ron had thought, dismissing the idea. If anything, the Day of Shadows had put life into perspective. Life is precious…and life is short. Not a revolutionary idea by any means, but an important revelation for Ron. And he knew that before his life ended, he wanted to be married to Hermione. He'd felt it in his gut, his heart, his soul. And really, that decision had saved his life. Marrying Hermione gave him hope again, allowed him to feel love again.

And now?... "Maybe we should've waited."

"Pardon?" came a sweet voice beside him.

Ron looked up, startled. He had walked down the corridor to a small common room where displaced house elves had set up tea and biscuits for visiting families. A beautiful young woman was standing beside him, wrapping up a few cakes in a paper napkin. She was much shorter than Ron (then again, who wasn't?) and her vibrant, curly blond hair seemed rather out of place at Mungo's. "Sorry?"

"You just said 'maybe ve should ahv vaited'." Her accent was unmistakably French and after a second glance, Ron was sure she was at least part veela.

"Oh, I was just…talking to myself. Sorry."

Suddenly, the girl grasped his wrist. "Oh, mon Dieu! You are monsieur Ronald Weasley, no?"

Again, Ron started. "Erm, yes?"

Smiling, she transferred her cakes to her bag and thrust out her hand, "Monique Renard. Ve ahv mutual acquaintance. I am good friend with Mademoiselle Delacour?"

Finally, Ron seemed to snap back to reality. "Fleur! Of course!"

She nodded and vigorously shook his hand. "Ve heard through ze owl chain that you ah-d been captured?" she added with a touch of concern in her voice.

"Oh, er – " he paused. His time in the dungeons of Malfoy mansion seemed so long ago. And with Harry's return to the fold, it hadn't occurred to him that maybe his own return would be big news too. "Yeah, I just…escaped."

"Vonderful!" she exclaimed. "It is good, no? Good news vhat they say?"

"Huh?"

"That…'e is back! 'arry Potter?"

"Oh," he answered, acutely aware of how covert Harry had tried to be, "Right."

The young woman seemed to sense that Ron was distracted, so she graciously flashed him a warm (slightly flirtatious) smile and walked out, leaving him in the doorway of the common room. Charming bird, he thought and chuckled in spite of his surroundings, remembering how he had tripped all over himself trying to impress Fleur Delacour back in school. _Fleur…what a twit!_ Ron paused, mid-stride and shook his head. Where had that come from? He stayed still a few seconds more, as if waiting for it to happen again, wondering what it was. After a moment, he sighed and continued down the corridor.

A portrait of Addison Hughes, Smythwick's predecessor, waved at him as he walked by, but Ron didn't notice. His senses were a bit dulled since he'd gotten back. He felt hollow, dazed. Deep down, he knew he should feel some relief that he was back. That he wasn't being held prisoner by demented Dark Army sycophants. That Harry's return meant that the end was near. But he couldn't feel relief. He felt…empty. Crippled. Useless. Hell, he had a _baby_ for God sakes and he couldn't even bring himself to ask a medi where it was.

He continued to mentally berate himself for this very fact as he turned the corner back into Hermione's room…and then stopped.

A young man was seated by her bedside, his elbows resting on the mattress with his chin propped up on folded hands. He was murmuring something – a chant or an incantation of some sort, but mostly, it looked like he was praying. The image itself was sweet, almost thoughtful, but Ron certainly didn't see it that way. The man at his wife's side was Neville Longbottom.

"You bastard!" Ron seethed, his voice a low, un-checked growl.

Neville reeled, clumsily stumbling back into the chair as he got up. "R-ron. I'd heard you were—"

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't transfigure you into a garden gnome and feed you to Fluffy!" Ron snapped. It wasn't Neville's fault, spoke that same unfamiliar part of his brain. But he ignored it. In fact, Ron advanced on him so quickly that Neville barely escaped his grasp by scooting around the back of Hermione's cot. The two stood there in a sort of ridiculously old-fashioned stand-off, one on each side of Hermione's bed. "How could you let her do it?"

"You don't understand, Ron. She gave me no choice!"

"Bollocks!" Ron spat, his hand inches away from drawing his wand. Neville closed his eyes and cringed.

_But it's true! He couldn't have stopped me—_

"Shut up!"

Neville held his hands up in surrender, "I didn't say anything!"

Confused, Ron's hand fell back to his side. "What?"

Neville's own hands were shaking as he held them in the air. "Y-you said 'shut up'. I – I didn't say anything."

"Yes you d—" but Ron stopped, squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, "Nevermind! Tell me why, Neville. Tell me why you let her attempt a sodding dream-walk to try to save me?"

Finally, Neville found a small bit of confidence. "Have you ever tried talking her out of something, mate?" he pointed down at Hermione. "Bloody impossible, in't it?"

Momentarily stumped, Ron didn't answer.

Helplessly, Neville looked down at Hermione, "I tried to be her anchor, Ron. I promise you that. She could tell I was scared for her." Unexpected tears formed in his eyes as he looked back at his old flatmate. "She forced me to let go. There was no stopping her. She…" he paused, taking a deep breath. "She was determined to save you."

At this last bit, Ron clenched his fists together and took a sharp breath. "Why?" he cried. But this question wasn't for Neville. He turned at glared at his wife's comatose body. "Why did you do it? You bloomin'…ruddy…stupid woman!" He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. Calling Hermione 'stupid' was almost as bad as calling her a 'Mudblood'. But he couldn't help it. The truth he'd been avoiding since he'd arrived at Mungo's hurt too much to conceal: He was furious…with her. Slowly, he sank into a chair that stood near door of the room, unable to look at her any longer. And in that moment, Ron understood the burden that Harry Potter had forever carried: How could Hermione have risked herself for someone so…unimportant.

"She did it because she loves you, Ron," came a familiar voice.

He snapped his head up and turned around. "Mum!" he gasped, his voice barely a whisper. Molly was considerably thinner since Ron had last seen her, almost a year ago. But the essentials that made her Molly Weasley were still there: red hair (albeit with many more flecks of grey), rosy cheeks, warm smile. Ron didn't notice these things though. He couldn't. For in her arms, wrapped in Percy's old blanket, lay a tiny baby boy.

"Hullo, Neville dear," she nodded to Neville.

"'Lo Mrs. Weasley," he mumbled, staring at his shoes.

Ron wasn't aware that he was moving backwards towards the bed and away from his son. But before he knew it, he had crossed the room, ramming his calf into the chair Neville had tripped over just minutes beforehand. "Good to see you, Mum."

Expertly, Molly shifted the weight of little Arthur into one arm and the other came to her hip. "Honestly, Ron," she said, "can't you spare your own mother a kiss?" Her tone was of mock reproach but she spoke through misty eyes and a huge grin. Her son was finally home.

Suddenly feeling about 11 years old, Ron sauntered back to the doorway and dutifully kissed her on the cheek, registering somewhere in the back of his mind that it was, indeed, good to see her. But his gaze remained on the child.

"Oh, my boy," Molly whispered, squeezing his arm. "Welcome home, dear." Then she shifted the little bundle back in front of her. "He won't bite. I promise."

Ron had faced some scary things in his life – three-headed dogs, hot-headed hippogriffs, Death Eaters, dementors and Professor McGonagall. But nothing was quite as terrifying as this funny-looking tot in front of him. He certainly looked like a Weasley, with the tiniest splotch of carrot top hair, matted and tangled already on his tiny head. But Ron had just barely come to terms with the fact that there was a baby. He wasn't even close to feeling like a father.

Still, there he was, sleeping soundly, quite content in this strange and terrible world to which he'd been born. "He's uh—" Ron gulped. "He's…he's very…small." _Idiot_! he thought, his cheeks burning red. Of course he's small!

But Molly just chuckled, and Neville had mercifully tip-toed out of the room. "His name is Arthur."

At that, Ron's head jerked upward and he met his mother's eyes. He swallowed down a gargantuan lump in his throat. "Arthur?" he rasped.

Molly nodded toward Hermione, "at her request."

Ron glanced back at his sleeping wife and then his child. Pain and wonder, joy and misery all clamped down on his stomach. Too much…it was all too much. He hugged himself around the waist, shaking his head, moving away from the baby. "I-I can't…I can't Mum, I just…I…"

_It's all right, Ron. _

Ron froze.

_I'm here. _

Cautiously, he looked up, daring to hope. But Hermione was laying just as she had been, eyes closed, pale, freckles standing out on her nose and cheeks.

"Hermione?" he whispered.

_I'm here, Ron. I'm with you._ Ron nearly collapsed. It was her. She was calling to him and yet…her body, her face, remained still.

"Ron?" he heard but his mum's voice was so distant and he didn't reply.

Images raced through his mind: a dark tunnel, a locked wall. Goyle was getting closer; he could hear them coming in the distance…

_The wall, Ron! You have to break it apart…_

_Reducto, Ron! Reducto!..._

_For heaven's sake, Ronald, stop repeating yourself…_

_it wasn't Neville's fault…_

_he couldn't have stopped me…_

It was her…it was all her. She was with him in the tunnel, the forest, Godric's Hollow. She was here in this room. Ron slammed his eyes shut and concentrated, as if trying to find the answer to a very important question. It was there, right there in front of him; he just had to grasp it. And all at once, Harry's voice came screeching forward: _You're a part of her, you know…and she's a part of you. _

Molly had been practically screaming his name, so much so that Neville had frantically returned with two medi-witches, but they all staggered back when Ron's eyes snapped open and darted about the room.

"Ron, are you ok?"

"Mum, lemme hold him," Ron said, holding his arms out to his son, feeling suddenly more confident and sure of himself than he ever thought possible.

"A-a-are you sure?" she pulled back.

"Yes, Mum, PLEASE!"

Hastily, Molly transferred little Arthur to her son and then pressed her hands together.

Ron cradled him close and couldn't believe how natural it felt holding his sleeping boy. A special kind of warmth overwhelmed him and he clung so tightly to his son that he could feel it…he could feel her. _She's a part of you…_

Slowly, feeling as if his entire life was riding on the next few moments, Ron sat beside Hermione. And he knew…somehow, he knew what to do. Ever so gently, supporting the weight of their child in one arm against his chest, he reached out and took Hermione's hand in his. I'm here too Hermione, he called out to her...come back to us.

Little Arthur squirmed in his arms as seconds passed…then minutes. No one else in the room dared speak a word as they had all realized that something was happening. And as the minutes dragged on and the tiniest bit of doubt threatened to creep into Ron's mind, he felt something…something and everything. His hand…she was holding his hand.

Ron opened his eyes, and looked down. Her hand, which had been limp in his, was squeezing hard and her skin seemed to be glowing. Not a shimmery-magicky-effervescent glow, but luminous. From within. His gaze swept over her and settled on her face. Her eyes were still closed, but her face was no longer pale and her freckles were fading.

And she was smiling.

"Hermione?" he managed. Instinctively, he clutched Arthur even closer. "Hermione, can you hear me?"

Her eyes, those beautiful brown eyes fluttered open. "Ron?" she spoke softly, her voice hoarse and dry.

Tears that wouldn't come before spilled freely now. "Yeah," he whispered. "It's me, luv…we're here."

She was still staring at the ceiling, clearly disoriented, her eyes blinking rapidly. But she was awake. She was blessedly awake.

Ron leaned forward and whispered in her ear. "Have to wake up, luv. I have no idea how to change a bloody diaper."

Hermione's smile broadened and finally, she turned her head to face him. "You'll learn," she said. And the room erupted in joy. Neville literally started jumping up and down and Molly broke out in sobs, praising Merlin and punching her fists in the air victoriously. One medi-witch had already dashed down the hall towards Smythwick's chambers and the other danced happily about the room with Molly, celebrating in this rare moment of happiness at Mungo's.

Hermione gave Ron's hand another squeeze and gazed into her husband's eyes. She had been seeing through them for so long, it was simply wonderful to be looking at them now. Brief spurts of consciousness within Ron's mind had certainly been one of her most…interesting adventures. A million thoughts occurred to her now as she realized the implications of her journey. The volumes of books she'd read, the scrolls she'd studied about dream-walking –how wrong they had all been. Especially that little bit in Transference and Transmogrification. _Madame Murray_, she thought (for she couldn't help it) _has clearly never attempted_—

She stopped herself, reached her hand up and brushed the tears from Ron's cheek. "I knew you'd figure it out."

Ron sniffled, "Sorry it took so long. Never been as smart as you." He took her hand away from his cheek and kissed it. Then he looked down at Arthur who had started to coo and gurgle, jolted awake by the energy in the room. "What you think? Too young for Quidditch?"

Hermione choked back a sob as she laughed, seeing her son for the first time, in awe of the perfect little wizard before her. He was theirs. Their link.

Their bond.

Their son.

"I love you," she cried, and she meant it for both of them.

Ron leaned forward, their baby between them, and kissed her.


	21. Camelotof course

**Summary: Hermione had a baby, Ron was a POW and Harry hasreturned. An account of the 2nd great wizarding war, of battles still to be won, and the love that endures. **

**Disclaimer: I dont own any of the Harry Potter characters, their world or their toys. **

**Author's Note: **As always, keep in mind that this was written before _Half-Blood Prince _came out. (I have not even finished reading the 7th book so this is most definitely AU).

Sacred Bonds: by Rebecca

Camelot…of course

_Harry wasn't sure what he had been expecting once he'd found this "**door to the past,**" but he had run through just about every possible imagining of Camelot he could think of while preparing for his journey. He'd thought of old films he'd seen during the summers (when Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would insist on taking him along to the cinema because they were too afraid that he'd "break things" if left home alone). They all varied of course, but the essentials were the same: a glorious castle that housed the knights, noblemen, courtiers and serfs of the great King Arthur's Court. And despite Professor Binns's assurances that it was all myth, Harry still expected to find himself in a Medieval village with structures of stone walls surrounded by a moat, and high towers like those at Hogwarts with red pennants fluttering on top. _

_But as far as Harry could tell, stepping through the cupboard door had taken him…nowhere. He was still in Little Whinging. He was still standing atop the ruins of his Uncle's house. He seemed to have stepped into the cupboard door and right back out again. "What's all this?"_

_The old man was standing patiently, balancing on some upturned floorboards near the cupboard door. "Camelot, of course."_

_Harry sighed, clenching his fists. "Bollocks! We're still in Little Whinging."_

_The old man looked around and then back at Harry, "Are we? Perhaps I came for you too soon."_

_Harry let out an exasperated sigh and clenched his temples between his thumb and his forefinger, "I'm sure you mean something by that, but I don't have time for more mind games—"_

_"Ah but there's where you're wrong, Harry. That's exactly what we do have…time."_

_Harry stared at him dumbly but didn't answer. _

_The old man swept his hand out over the rubble and, for some reason, toward the sky. "Tell me, is anything… different?_

_Harry rolled his eyes and pivoted on his heels, surveying the town and the remains of the house. Then he saw, or rather didn't see…_

_"The bodies." His own voice surprised him as he answered the man with a squeak. And as he continued to turn, he noticed that not only had the victims disappeared, but the people on the street, approaching ambulances, passing automobiles – everyone. He turned back to the man, "The muggles…they're gone."_

_The old man was smiling and nodded in approval. "Better," he said. "I was beginning to worry." With that, he stepped down off of the debris and headed west. _

_He couldn't be sure, but it felt like the man had just paid him some sort of backwards compliment. "Sir?" he called as the two started walking. "What do you see?"_

_He could sense rather than see the man smile. "Camelot…" he glanced back, "of course."_

_Harry sighed again and decided that not asking questions would be less frustrating. Luckily, the man continued._

_"You, no doubt, see what is familiar to you to help you make sense of this place in your mind. Little Whinging is not your favorite place in the world but it is a part of your world. And so…it is what you see."_

_ "So…" Harry struggled, "this isn't really Privet Drive."_

_"Of course it is," the man waved his hand nonchalantly. _

_Harry wanted to scream. "You JUST said this is Camelot!"_

_ "There are reasons it cannot be both?"_

_Harry rolled his eyes and threw his arms up in the air. "I dunno…PHYSICS?"_

_At that, the man laughed outright and his hearty guffaw grated on Harry's nerves. "Physics! How archaic! Dumbledore never told me how amusing you'd be. Surely you don't hope to contradict the existence of Camelot with childish Muggle sciences! Why the simplest First-Year charm defies the so-called laws of physics."_

_Harry was shaking his head, his arms crossed over his chest. "I know. I was joking."_

_The man's expression instantly changed. "No. You weren't."_

_Harry looked up._

_"I have a great fondness for levity, but in your voice I hear only impatience."_

_"I was only—"_

_"And impatience—" he said, his voice stern, "is what prevents you from being ready. From seeing this place," he stretched his arms wide in reverence, "as it truly is. You must be willing to sacrifice your world to save it, Harry." He brought his hands together again. "You must let it go."_

_"Let it go?" Harry realized he sounded angry, but he continued anyway. "I've already done that! I've left EVERYONE! My friends? My army? I've abandoned them—"_

_ "Righteous indignation will get you nowhere, Mr. Potter. I have heard it all before." The man pointed an accusing finger towards Harry's heart. "You haven't let anything go."_

_His mouth was open, ready to object but instead he looked down, fixating on his worn sneakers. Something about this man made him feel as if he were back in Snape's very first Potions class. The disorientation, the worry…the shear panic at discovering how much his classmates already knew, and how much he didn't._

_ "Come," said the man, his tone once more softened. "There is work to be done, none of which can be rushed."_

_Harry scratched the back of his head as he followed the man toward the horizon. "Er, well, I don't know if you've noticed but there's a war going on out there –" he gestured back to the cupboard door, "—in my world? A muggle-hating MAD man with thousands of followers?"_

_The man was silent a few moments before he finally responded. "I have noticed."_

_"Well, that's why, I mean—" Harry cleared his throat, aware of the fact that he sounded like a right idiot, "that's why I came. I need to—"_

_"You've come here to find a way to defeat Voldemort," the man responded quite candidly._

_"Yes."_

_"That is your first problem."_

_"Sorry? That's a problem?" This bloke was sounding more and more like Dumbledore._

_ "I was able to reach you because you tapped into a magic so powerful, it allowed me to open the doorway from my world into yours. That is not a feat so easily attained, Harry. As of right now, you have only grazed the surface and only when your emotions are the most volatile. Your mission should not be about Voldemort.. It should be about you." He took a few steps back and folded his hands together. "So tell me again. Why are you here?"_

_Harry thought for a moment, unnerved by the sense of urgency with which he wanted to answer the question correctly. "To become more powerful," he said, finally._

_The old man grinned, "Precisely." _

_They continued walking side by side toward what Harry still saw as the outskirts of Little Whinging. For a while, neither man spoke. The imprints of his Sentinels were blending together more cohesively now and his thoughts felt more his own. So Harry used the silence to try to make sense of everything. He'd gone searching for his destiny and instead found a massacre. He'd grown powerful enough to demolish his childhood home, yet he felt like an amateur. Camelot apparently bore a striking resemblance to the most pitiful town in Surrey, and the new sage in his life seemed to see right through him. "You haven't let ANYTHING go!" The man's words struck a very sensitive nerve. After all, in his mind…Ginny's face was so clear._

_Eventually, they trekked for what seemed like hours to the very edge of town, through the familiar avenues, parks and villas of his rather forgettable childhood. All the while, Harry was poignantly aware of the vast emptiness of the place, a town devoid of every living soul, save for him and his odd companion. And yet, it didn't feel deserted. There was something calm, almost whimsical in the air. The colors of the trees, the grass, the roads, and cottages started to shimmer together, spilling into one another like an impressionist painting. But at the same time, every leaf, every petal seemed to jump out at him, each clearly and individually defined. The wind seemed to whisper to him in voices so clear and yet he could not make out the words. They trudged down through Blackwater Valley and up again, the vast countryside stretching before them, and Harry paused, turning back. Down the slope they'd just climbed was a pathway Harry knew led to an outdoor picnic area where the Dursleys held a few of Dudley's birthday parties when he was very young. A little further on, he knew, was a stream that led to a small pond hidden deep within the park –a favorite escape of Harry's during those parties where he spent his time catching frogs and lizards, hoping and wishing for a different kind of life. It didn't add up. This place was Surrey…and yet it wasn't. The sites were familiar, and yet foreign to him. He wanted so much to understand but it seemed so far out of reach. And even more unsettling was the look on the old man's face when he turned around. There he was…waiting…expecting…knowing what Harry's questions were before he even asked them. "Where AM I?" he begged of his host, surprised at the sudden and earnest desperation in his voice._

_The old man put his hand on Harry's shoulder. "You are in Camelot, Harry," he answered in almost a whisper. And though it was the exact same response he'd given all day, it somehow sounded different. "Look," he said, and he turned Harry away from the town and toward the horizon. _

_Harry looked and started, fairly certain that what he saw had not been there seconds before. Just over the hill, amidst the familiar trees and rocks of the countryside, he saw a strange ethereal glow. He moved closer, nearly blinded by its glistening brightness though it hurt not to look. It had no mass, although it was massive, stretching a good four or five meters across his field of vision, and was pulsing in various shades of purples, reds and pinks. Staring into its glimmering beauty, Harry was reminded of his old divination lessons, of moving photos of stars, nebula, planetary rings. Such rings were spiraling around the amorphous form, vibrant and iridescent…like those that had engulfed his friends during the Sentinel Spell. As they spun, Harry peered closely at its core, at a streak of blackness running through the purples and reds. He heard it then, the faint sounds of children laughing, of wheels turning round and round in successive rhythms. He moved even closer and gasped. They were the voices he'd heard before but could not identify: the familiar symphony of the average park-going muggles, biking, playing and laughing throughout the valley. The other side, he thought, they're on the other side!_

_"Yes, Harry, they're on the other side." Harry jumped at the old man's voice. Had he said that out loud?_

_"But how—"_

_"Camelot, Harry, is the source of all magic, existing on a plane both beyond…and beneath your world. Before you is a rift, a tear between the dimensions of your world and of mine, and through it, you hear the sounds, the faint echoes of those who are oblivious to the magic surrounding them, protecting them."_

_"Protecting them?"_

_"As it protected you. Rifts like these are made by only the most powerful wizards. This one was crafted 17 years ago, when Albus Dumbledore brought you to live with your Aunt and Uncle in Surrey."_

_Harry's eyes grew wide and bleary, dazed by the flood of information._

_"The spell he cast to ensure that you would be safe among the muggles, that you would be protected from Voldemort while you matured and grew into your powers, was bound to this rift, able to draw on the magic of Camelot in order to sustain its potency. Your family, and indeed the entire muggle population of Surrey was protected by this enchantment—"_

_"If that's true, then why was that family murdered—"_

_"Dumbledore is gone, Harry. You know that. This rift was once twice this size. When he left your world, the bruises he left in my world began to heal. Besides, this spell protected you from Voldemort…not his wayward followers."_

_Harry looked at the man and then back at the rift. Like a child, he stretched his arm towards it. His hand seemed to go right through the rich nebulous energy, and yet, he felt resistance, as if it pushed against his palm. "Dumbledore made this," he said, more to himself than the old man. _

_"And you, Harry…made that."_

_Harry turned back toward the town and nearly fell over. Stretching across the rooftops of Surrey, several kilometers wide, was another rift, pulsating in the same rich reds and purples. A thick black streak ran through the wisps and waves of warm, bright colors decorating the sky, while dozens of shimmering bands wound and twisted around the center. And even from such a great distance, Harry could tell that its nucleus was positioned just above what was left of Number 4 Privet Drive. Harry gulped, "I did that?"_

_"The energy released by your fury, Harry—You drew on pure magic, raw magic. You opened up a rift and pulled that power right from my world."_

_Harry stood and gaped. "Why didn't I see it before? When I first came through?"_

_"You didn't want to," he answered quietly. "Man has always been blind to what he does not wish to see…Always."_

_There was something of a touch of regret in his voice that caused Harry to tear his gaze away from the glittering horizon. "Always?...How long have you been here?"_

_The man was quiet for a moment, an almost imperceptible frown across his face. "Many…many years," he said. _

_Harry stared at him, wondering if his response was some sort of clue. "Have you ever…left?"_

_The man looked out at the skyline, looked back at the remains of Dumbledore's spell and then smiled at Harry, "only to retrieve those who need to learn."_

_Harry thought for a moment and looked back at the sky. The rift was nearly five times the size of Dumbledore's and almost filled the horizon. And he had caused it. He made it happen. "I don't understand."_

_The man was silent and waited._

_"If I did that, I must…well, I must be pretty powerful already."_

_"You wouldn't be here otherwise."_

_"Then what is it I need to learn?"_

_It was as if Harry had unwittingly uttered some sort of cue. The Old Man's gentle countenance vanished, replaced by a sinister look of might and dominance. He stretched out his arms and the sky turned black, plunging them into darkness. Harry felt the wind lift him skyward, toss him around mid-air and then drop him hard back down to the ground. Terrified of what he'd see, he twisted around and looked back at the old man…who was no longer clad in a shabby 18th century English suit. Instead, long royal blue robes cascaded down into puddles of thick, velvet fabric around his feet. His silvery hair was wildly untamed, practically standing on ends from beneath a tall wizard's hat. And his eyes, his piercing green eyes seemed to glow, illuminating the darkness around him. Harry gasped in horror as he caught a clear glimpse of his face. He would know that face anywhere – memorized it since the day he'd first seen the profile on a Chocolate Frog collector's card…Merlin. The old man was Merlin._

_Amidst his shock, Harry felt something twitching beneath his belt – his wand. "Hey!" he cried, but it was too late. Harry's wand had been plucked from its holster and he watched in vain as it traveled toward the living legend. Merlin caught the wand…and snapped it in two. _

_"Are you mad?" he cried, flooded with worry. His wand - his Ollivander wand! The wand that shared its phoenix-feathered core with only one other person in the world – destroyed by the father of all magic!_

_But Merlin grinned and shook his head, seemingly amused by Harry's apparent ignorance. "Forget everything you thought you knew, Harry Potter," he said in a booming, powerful voice that was not consistent with any of the wise, mystic, sage-like tones used by British thespians to portray him in the past. He couldn't help but think that this man sounded an awful lot…like Voldemort. And no sooner had he made this observation than Harry found himself completely surrounded. Dark, shadowy figures encircled him. Some looked like dementors, some death eaters, but mostly to Harry, they looked like knights. Black, armored knights with swords drawn, rearing back their horses like the life-sized chess pieces he and Ron once faced._

_"It's time," said Merlin, who seemed to be floating above them. _

_"For what?" he cried, angry, scared, helpless._

_"It's time you learned who you really are!" He waved his hand toward the knights, poised and ready to attack, and mechanically, they started to close in. "Fight, Harry. Your destiny depends on it."_

_Harry whirled around, grasping instinctively for the wand he no longer had. And in the few precious moments before panic and adrenaline completely consumed him, he realized…his training had begun. _


	22. Now you're learning

**Summary**: Hermione had a baby, Ron was a POW and Harry has returned. An account of the 2nd great wizarding war, of battles still to be won, and the love that endures.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters, their world or their toys.

**Author's Note:** This is most definitely AU Fiction - As always, keep in mind that this was written well before Half-Blood Prince came out. (I finally finished the 7th book and it inspired me to keep going…hope you enjoy)

Sacred Bonds

By Rebecca

Now…you're learning

It had been a long day in The Great Hall. Professors McGonagall and Sprout were, of course, overjoyed to see the return of their favorite student, and his arrival seemed to lift the spirits of all that had remained to fortify the old school. Harry spoke with them at length about all that had been settled upon at Azkaban and relayed more instructions for those stationed here. Afterwards, he had announced that he was tired and quietly slipped from the hall.

As he walked down a corridor, it struck Harry as rather odd that the sparsely populated hallways of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry would seem deserted to him after having spent three years in isolation with nothing but the old mad man and his teachings for company. Still, his footfalls echoed along the corridors with a painful emptiness that pervaded his senses. He tried to ignore it. Tried to keep the old man's voice in his mind as he pushed all sentimentality away from him, concentrating on the task at hand, all that must still be done. But the memories contained in these hallways flooded his mind and after a while, he found that he did not want to push them away.

At last, he reached his intended destination: Gryffindor Tower. Perhaps it was nostalgia that had led him here, or perhaps it was simply habit. Regardless, he could not bring himself to occupy the Headmaster's chambers or Guest Professor quarters that McGonagall had offered him. No, his four-poster in his old house tower would do just fine. The portrait of the fat lady that once guarded the entrance to Gryffindor house had long since been relocated to another portion of the castle that had required more fortification. Therefore, the small doorway between the revolving staircases and the common room stood open and he slipped inside. As he did so, an image popped into his head and voices echoed in his memory:

_ "I'll think of something. Just keep at it. I don't care about height yet...the old stories of Dementors might not be true."…_

_"Yeah well it's the sucking-out-your-soul part that's got everyone wonky. Ernie won't stop whining about it, stupid git."…_

_"Well, why should he?" …_

_ "Because I'm giving up some quality Exploding Snap time for this…that's why!"…_

Echoes from the night he'd agreed to let Hermione concoct the Sentinel spell. Had that really been the last time all three of them had been in the Common Room together? Harry couldn't remember. It was ages ago, but he managed to recall that, indeed, the rest of the spell had been crafted and developed in the Great Hall. He'd fled quickly that night, he remembered, out the window on his broomstick, Voldemort's voice pounding into head. Harry touched the back of his hand to his scar, remembering how it seemed to singe his soul. Now, he barely remembered it was there, and he allowed himself a small smile as he thought of the four Sentinels who were currently on their way, called back after years of solitude. He could feel them coming, willed them to move faster; soon he'd be whole again.

_It's time you learned who you really are!_ he heard Merlin call out in his head. Who he _really_ was. He'd given Ron only the sketchiest of details about what he'd discovered in Camelot. How much more there was to tell. How much more information would Hermione just ache to know. But his were secrets that could not be divulged. Truths about himself, about the world that begged to be revealed, yet it was essential they remain hidden.

Harry breathed a heavy sigh as he climbed the winding staircase to the bedchambers. Since most Gryffindors were out protecting the front lines, it was unlikely that he would run into anybody catching a cat nap in the old dormitory. Still, he held his breath as he slowly pushed open the door to his old room. It was empty. He relaxed.

He collapsed onto a soft, plush, maroon blanket that lay draped over an old bed. "When was the last time I slept?" he wondered aloud. Sleep. He thought of Ginny…and then immediately shut his mind from her. _No_, he thought. _No more…it's not who you are anymore…it's not who you are…_

_ "You're a bleedin' lunatic!" Harry screamed as he took off through the dense forest on the outskirts of Surrey. I am going to die, he thought angrily. Not scared. Not anxious. Angry. Months of planning with Hermione; battle drills with Ron; Lupin, his Secret Keeper, who at this point knew nothing more than that Harry had been headed to Little Whinging. What in the hell was it all for if all it led to was his swift, anti-climactic demise? Death on a parallel plane by an ancient wizard who'd disarmed him faster than Snape could disarm a first-year?_

_ "You must unlearn what you have learned, Potter!" he heard, though he could not tell where it came from. He was nearly half a kilometer from where they'd been standing before and covered by a canopy of tree tops and pines so thick they blocked the sun. Sparks nicked the heal of his shoe and he toppled over the protruding roots of an old oak tree; clumsily, he stumbled deeper into the dense vegetation._

_ "Bastard!" he spat, rolling onto his back and sitting up, though the aspersion was meant not for the dark, imposing knight that pursued him, but rather for the knight's deranged puppeteer. "This will help me become more powerful? This is s'posed to – Ah!" he rolled out of the way of the potentially fatal blow. It had a sword! The sodding knight had a sword!_

_ "Do you really expect to learn anything by sitting and whining about your bloomin' arse?" he heard the old man's voice again. It seemed to come from all directions and yet from within him as well._

_ "Right then," he muttered through gritted teeth. He spun around, hoisted himself from the forest floor and dodged another deadly blow of the knight's blade. From the corner of his eye, he could see two more shadowy figures approaching, both formed into the shapes of Death Eaters. There were mere seconds left before he was hopelessly outnumbered and his right hand was still habitually grasping for a wand no longer holstered at his side._

_ Finally, just before frustration gave way to complete panic, Harry got an idea. Swiftly, he ducked and rolled beneath the knight's swing, positioning himself between the knight and the approaching wizards. Just a few more seconds, he thought, calculating the distance between himself and the Death Eaters. The knight reeled back, winding up his next strike, and Harry held his breath as the sword came screaming down toward his head. He jumped and suddenly, he was in the air. His body turned and twisted, feet over head as his hands seized the hilt of the sword, prying it from the black knight's grasp. Without a moment's hesitation, he turned as he began his descent to the earth and hurled the sword directly at the head of the nearest Death Eater, chopping it off at the base of the neck. The dark figure disintegrated at once, leaving Harry with one less foe. Meanwhile, the knight had conjured up another sword and was moving to strike again. The second figure was closing in, one dark enemy on either side. Harry dodged and parried, inching himself closer and closer to the Death Eater until they were almost on top of each other. He had one shot to make this work. Peripherally, he saw both knight and wizard draw their weapons. He waited until the last possible moment as both attacks were thrown…and then he rolled out of the way, throwing his arms over his head in a final dodge as wand collided with blade and both dark shadows vanished._

_ All was still again in Camelot._

_ "Yes!" Harry cried, triumphantly._

_ "Pity," came Merlin's voice. This time, its origin was clear and Harry spun around to face him._

_ "Sorry?" he gasped through shallow breaths. Merlin said nothing. "I defeated them!" he challenged. "I cut off his—"_

_ "Child's play," Merlin waved him off with an annoyed shrug._

_ Harry opened his mouth to protest again but decided it wasn't worth it. "You're mad, old man." He brushed himself off and turned away. _Maybe Bill can help me find Ollivander and forge a new wand_, he thought as he lamented the months of preparation that had led to this catastrophic waste of time—_

_ "You went for his weapon," Merlin said with an air of disappointment._

_ "Well yeah!" Harry called back, rolling his eyes. "You destroyed mine!"_

_ "Are you really so thick-headed boy?" he asked._

_ Harry whirled around, "what are you playing at?"_

_ "Modern day wizards," he scoffed, truly impatient for the first time since Harry had encountered him. "How quickly you forget. How easily you accept what others tell you about magic, about the wizarding world, about power." _

_ Harry shook his head in confusion, "I don't under—"_

_ "You are the weapon, Harry."_

_ For a moment, Harry was silent, reeling from the powerful degree to which this statement disturbed him. "I am not a weap—"_

_ "Harold James Potter, heart of the lion, blood of the muggle, mind of the phoenix."_

_ Harry gasped. He knew …of course he knew._

_ "Harry Potter, magic of the serpent. Only a handful of witches and wizards in the history of man have been contrived of such a potent combination. Why else do you think Miss Granger's spell worked on you?"_

_ Harry stammered, "The…c-calculations. Good arithmancy that's all. She—"_

_ "And no other creature in the world predates that of the serpent where tales of magical power and feats of trickery are concerned. Why else would Slytherin house so many of the…cleverest wizards?"_

_ The discourse was unnerving, and Harry longed to object, to rationalize. But he was silent._

_ "This," Merlin held up one broken half of his beloved wand, "is a twig. Made of wood." He tossed it on the ground like a piece of rubbish and Harry battled the urge to lunge for it, cling to it as the last thing he had left of his world. "Look around you, boy," Merlin gestured to the forest. "You are surrounded by wood."_

_ Harry started, as if just now realizing that he was standing on hallowed ground. How quickly you forget Merlin had said. How quickly…how easily…and now Harry knew what he meant. Magic._

_ Hermione's voice popped into his mind: Magic is its own dimension. Isn't that where he was after all? In the dimension of magic? Hadn't he seen with his own eyes, just minutes ago, the magnitude of his power? What he'd been able to do to Number 4 Privett Drive without his wand? What he'd been able to do when shadow threatened The Great Hall? How quickly you forget…_

_ "You dismiss these events as accidents. Ever since you were a boy," Merlin said, his voice reverting to the same sage-like tone of their first encounter. "Think, Harry. There are no accidents. Think back to the first time you used magic."_

_ "The snake." Harry's voice almost betrayed his mind as the words seemed to escape his mouth before he even thought them._

_ "That's right," Merlin said with a crooked grin. "The snake at the zoo. You wanted to teach your cousin a lesson so you willed the glass to disappear. From then on, Dudley was a might scared of you. Accident was it?"_

_"B-but," Harry shook his head, "but all young wizards do things they can't control when they're young. It's how Hogwarts knows where—"_

_ "Can't control? Blimey, Potter. Did your hair grow down to the floor after Petunia chopped it off?"_

_ "Well…er…no." The fact that Merlin seemed to know intimate details of his earliest childhood episodes didn't even occur to Harry as he struggled to remember the first moments he was aware of his…differences._

_ "No," Merlin repeated, satisfied. "Grew back to a right clean length didn't it?"_

_ "Well, yeah but—"_

_ "And when you hopped on a broomstick the first time, did you need a wand to tell it to fly?"_

_ Harry was silent, and the more he listened, the more things around him began to change. The trees were no longer dark; light shone through the leaves overhead and he looked up, mesmerized by the towering branches above him. Their majestic limbs beckoned him, invited him into their confidence. Magic…it was everywhere._

_ "You are the weapon, Harry," he heard Merlin's soft voice now standing right beside him. "It is your destiny. A burden I am afraid is yours and yours alone to bear."_

_ "Mine alone," he repeated, turning solemnly. "Neither can live while the other survives?" he whispered, though it wasn't really a question._

_ " 'Scuse me?"_

_ "Neither can live," he repeated, "the prophecy that Professory Trelawney—"_

_ "Ah yes," Merlin nodded, and the two fell into a slow, steady pace. "I suppose that little ditty was as close a translation as anyone on the outside could have understood."_

_ Harry started, feeling as if everything this man said was just slightly outside his power to grasp. "Did…did you send the prophecy?"_

_ Merlin shook his head. "Not me, Harry. I'm just the keeper of these woods."_

_ "Yes, but you're…you're Merlin."_

_ The old man grinned, "your point being?"_

_ "So you're the most powerful wizard since…since…well ever!" he knew he sounded like a schoolboy again, but he didn't care. He needed to learn. And now, he finally felt that he might._

_ "The most powerful wizard ever, eh?" Merlin considered the title, stroking at his chin as if considering a piece of artwork. "Is that what they say?"_

_ Harry sighed impatiently. "Well, if you didn't send the prophecy, who did?"_

_ Merlin grinned, wryly. "Camelot…of course."_

_ Harry grunted, slapping his hand to his forehead, ignoring the echo of an ache beneath his scar. "That's your answer for everything."_

_ "Ha!" Merlin stopped, raising a finger triumphantly, "NOW you're learning." Harry stopped too and stared. Merlin continued. "Camelot IS the answer for everything, Harry. Camelot is magic. And Magic delivered the prophecy."_

_ Harry looked around him as if the woods held some further clues. "You're talking of Magic like it's a person, Sir—"_

_ "And why not? Is it not like a person? Does it not feel and grow like a person?" _

_ Harry shook his head, "Magic is just—"_

_ "And is there not darkness and light in magic as there is darkness and light in every soul?"_

_ He sighed, "Not every soul."_

_ Merlin nodded, "Ah yes, not every soul. Quite right." Harry held his breath as he met his new master's gaze. "On that, I am afraid we must agree."_

_ They were silent for a few moments before Harry began again. "You said that Magic delivered the prophecy. Why? A-and when exactly?"_

_ "As soon as it became necessary," Merlin replied, finally acquiescing to Harry's determined questioning. After all, he couldn't very well keep the boy in the dark with so much to do…fun as it was. "You see, Harry, your brilliant friend deduced long ago that Voldemort's power comes from the use of Ancient Magic. And like all ancient magic, that's borrowed power. Camelot's power. You'll see the bruises that brute has left on my world soon enough…as we get closer to the front lines." Harry gave him a quizzical look but was silent. "Now usually, when a presence that dark commits sins as heinous as Voldemort's, there is typically enough good in your world to compensate. Your headmaster was pretty evenly matched. And I'd wager that old bat still teaching transfiguration could have stopped him too. But then Voldemort did the unthinkable."_

_ Harry waited in suspense, but Merlin would not continue. "Did the unthinkable? What, murdered my parents?" he seethed. _

_ "Murdered your parents? Heavens no. By then he'd killed dozens of wizards and witches."_

_ "What then?"_

_ "A child, Harry," Merlin's voice was low and impassioned. "He drew power from my world to murder a child." His tone sent chills down Harry's back. It was as if Voldemort's actions were some sort of personal betrayal of Merlin and Camelot together…and indeed they were._

_ Harry gulped. "Me," he said quietly._

_ "Precisely. You. At that moment, Voldemort sealed his own fate. By striking at you, he created the very thing that would be his undoing. That lighting-shaped gash in your head is not a scar left by Voldemort, Harry. It's a mark left by Magic."_

_ Harry touched his forehead as he had done so many times in the past 17 years. _

_ "Magic protected you," Merlin continued, "preserved you and implanted in you powers that would one day restore balance to both worlds."_

_ "My MOTHER protected me," Harry protested, pulling back from him, clinging to the story that Dumbledore had told him so long ago in the Hogwarts medical ward. "Her love. HER magic protected me when she died to save me—"_

_ "Gobblygook," Merlin rolled his eyes. "Sentimental hogwash spun by an overly-sentimental head-master. You're too old for fairy tales, Harry. Do you really think your mother is the only good woman in the world who ever sacrificed herself to save her children?" Harry looked away, refusing to admit to himself that he'd often wondered the same thing of Dumbledore's explanation. "And you were hardly the first child attacked, Harry, but yours was the first and only attempted murder at the hands of an unmentionable, ancient curse. Don't you see?" Merlin grasped him by the shoulders, his grip firm and steady, and through his touch, Harry could feel his power. "Your destiny lies beyond that of family, beyond that of love. It matters not that you are the heir of Gryffindor when you are the heir of so much more. The Heir of Magic. A bond that goes beyond bloodlines or arithmancy. Only you can stop Voldemort because only you have been granted full access to this world and its secrets. Secrets you've only just begun to unfold."_

_ Harry stared into the old man's gaze, both icy and intense. Absently, he wished Hermione was here. He had a feeling that all this would have made perfect sense to her. As it was, Harry couldn't quite come to terms with the fact that everything he thought he understood, everything Dumbledore had managed to explain to him was all wrong. Forget everything you thought you knew, Harry Potter. The old man wasn't joking. _You are the weapon, Harry. _ Was it that basic? That elemental? Was there no other way? In an effort to prevent an unmentionable sin, Magic had created an unwinnable scenario? In saving Harry, it had condemned Harry? A thought occurred to him and he voiced it without thinking. "Camelot has a twisted sense of humor."_

_ Merlin let out a chuckle which quickly turned into a hearty laugh. "As I said, Harry…now you're learning."_


	23. Get to Work

**Summary:** Hermione and Neville are in for some surprises.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters, their world or their toys.

**Author's Note:** Remember this story was conceived and the majority of it written BEFORE _Half-Blood Prince _came out. This chapter and the ones to follow are dedicated to Serengeti Dawn. HAPPY BIRTHDAY Serengeti! I miss you!

Sacred Bonds

By Rebecca

Get to Work

"Camelot?" Hermione repeated, her mind spinning. "Are you sure that's what he said?"

"As sure as I am about _anything_ he said," Ron bounced little Arthur up and down on his knee as he reclined against the headboard of their bed. His son's soft cooing and giggling were melodies of happiness for Ron, recompense after their year spent apart, the trials they'd each endured. And to be here, home…with her, was nothing short of a miracle. But of course, none of it altered the fact that there was still a war out there to be won, and their brief respite at the Burrow wouldn't last much longer than it would take to bind little Arthur with the Fidelius charm and rejoin the ranks.

"I just can't believe it. Everything in _Hogwarts a History, _everything in _History of Magic…" _Hermione crossed her arms over her chest in frustration, as if she had just found out she'd submitted a wrong answer on the OWL exam. "Even the _founders_ book never mentioned anything about – OW!" Hermione banged her knee against the corner end table and winced.

They were up in Ron's old bedroom having claimed there was plenty of room for the three of them. "_Actually, we're only 2 and a half, mum," _he had said, arguing on the way to the floo network at Mungo's. "_This little tyke doesn't take up much space." _He was lying of course. There was barely enough room for their bed, let alone a bassinet. Molly had wanted to give the new young family the one actually livable space in the house and had fixed up the Burrow's master bedroom for their arrival, but Ron was adamant…He would _not _stay in his father's room.

"You all right?" he chuckled as she rubbed her bruised knee.

"Fine," she huffed, holding her arms out for Arthur. Ron transferred him over with ease, smiling at the very natural sight of his son in the arms of his wife. Who knew growing up could be so bloody wonderful? "I suppose he didn't tell you much more than that," she said matter-of-factly as she cradled Arthur close to her heart.

Ron hesitated, remembering what little Harry _had_ told him, and how much he had seemed to regret revealing anything. "Why do you say that?" he asked.

Hermione sighed. "Ron," she began with that bookish air he had missed so much, "if Camelot is a real place, then its location, its entrance, its very _existence _has been a great secret for centuries. I'm sure whatever Harry knows now is…not for anyone _else_ to know." She mumbled the last bit, as if it pained her to know that there was knowledge out there of something extraordinary that she would never be able to study in a book.

"Yeah," he muttered after a while. "Well, he _didn't_ tell me much more than that." He glanced up at her guiltily and he sensed that she had already guessed he was holding something back.

She arched an eyebrow but didn't respond, turning her attentions instead to Arthur, pulling out her wand and flicking it toward the open doorway. "_Accio bottle_!" she called and in seconds it came rushing forth from its place on the kitchen stove downstairs. Ron watched as she shifted her weight a bit and then held the bottle in place for their son. Finally, he spoke again.

"We did see something in Godric's Hollow though," Ron said, eyeing her carefully.

She looked up again as Arthur drank, the child blissfully unaware of the important revelation his red-headed father was about to impart to his brainy mum. "Oh?"

Ron smiled for her eyes were positively gleaming with anticipation. _LORD, _it had been too long since he'd seen that look. Devilishly, he smiled. "It was a hatch."

...

Neville sighed as he sat at his desk, absently twirling his wand toward the beaker currently steaming essence of billywig and dragon liver into the potion he had brewing. The potion bubbled along, cheerfully unaware of what little effect it would have on a Blasting curse. It wasn't good enough. Neville sighed again as he realized the irony of his concoction. He might as well call it the Longbottom potion. _Longbottom – not good enough_. In his whole life, this was the one thing that remained constant. Not even the war had really changed his fate as the Gryffindor misfit. He had practically killed Ginny, sent Hermione into a coma, and lost a handful more witches and wizards under his command that fateful mission when they'd taken down Crabbe. It was almost as if the world was laughing at him…almost. More likely, the world didn't notice he was here.

Still, his usual bout of self pity couldn't suppress the joy he'd felt as he'd watched Ron miraculously wake Hermione. Nor could it quell the relief that overwhelmed him when he'd heard what Harry had done to help Ginny's condition. Yes, Harry Potter's return was a blessing. A good omen for things to come. A sign of change. And yet…nothing _felt_ different to Neville. After all that, here he was: back at his post in the Hogwarts hospital wing, mixing potions and brewing remedies for curses and backfired spells.

Of course, history would not view Neville this way. In the generations to come, the name Longbottom would be spoken with the same deference and regard as would be spoken the names Granger and Weasley. But from Neville's perspective, tucked away in the office behind overused cots and bloodied up linens and towels, that destiny seemed as improbable as Ron Weasley rooting for Puddlemere United. It wasn't as if Neville had ever really been part of that special trio of theirs. The closest he'd come was his pitiful attempt to stop them from going after the Sorcerer's Stone their first year, after which he'd been summarily hexed to the floor for the remainder of very chilly night. Then, he had taken Ron's sister to the Yule Ball, but she'd spent the evening flirting with Dean Thomas (mostly, he'd guessed afterwards, to see if Harry was paying attention). And then of course there were the Sentinels: four specially chosen guardians of Harry Potter's soul. The spell had been a great secret for a long while but little fragments had been spilled to him along the way. Fred had told him some bits and pieces. Hermione had filled in the rest after he'd agreed to be her Secret Keeper. And if he were truly honest with himself, he probably wouldn't have wanted to be charged with such an important and vital task as keeping Harry Potter's mind concealed from He Who Shall Not Be Named.

Still…it might have been nice to be asked.

A soft creakingat the other end of the room startled Neville from his thoughts and he sprang from his chair, wand drawn. "W-wh-who's there?"

The intruder made no response but he heard the soft padding of sneakers inching toward him. "I'm warning you!" he shouted, his voice a little louder, as he shook his wand wildly in front of him. Still the footsteps grew closer and Neville cried out, "_Expelliermus_!"

Instantly an all too familiar sight of a cloak, seemingly from thin air, was whisked off the shoulders of one Harry Potter, standing before him and almost…grinning.

"Blimey Harry!" he cried out, dusting himself off from having crashed into his desk, spilling octopus powder all over his jeans. "What'd you do that for?"

"I found it in my old trunk," he answered, retrieving the now-visible invisibility cloak from the ground and brushing it off. "I wanted to avoid the stares in the corridors. There are more people walking around this morning."

Neville sighed with relief and sheathed his wand. "Can't blame them for that. It's no secret you're back, Harry. Not after Mungo's."

Harry looked down, shaking his head. "I know, I…I shouldn't have gone."

Neville gaped, "Are you mad? You had to go—"

"Too many people saw me there—"

"You cured Ginny—"

"_Helped_ her—"

"And Hermione!"

At this, Harry paused. "Hermione's awake?"

"Didn't you hear?" Harry shook his head and Neville approached him in mild shock. "She woke two nights ago!"

"That was Ron then," Harry smiled, more to himself than to Neville. "Had nothing to do with me."

Neville crossed his arms over his chest. "Right. And Ron being _alive _had nothin' to do with _you_ either I suppose."

This Harry seemed to ignore entirely as he reached inside his robes and withdrew something from his pocket. "Do you know what this is?" he asked as he tossed it to Neville.

Neville caught it clumsily and felt its weight in his hands. At first glance, it was a rock, and a rather unremarkable one at that. But the weight. It was far too dense for its size and these flecks of red…blood red…they looked familiar. Almost as if it were a replica of…wait…no…

"Harry," he rasped, "This isn't the…the—"

"The Sorcerer's Stone, yes" he answered, indifferently.

"How did you…I mean where?"

"Where isn't important. Do you know what it's used for?"

For once, more in awe of something other than Harry, Neville turned the stone over and over in his hands, handling it with all the care and reverence the most powerful and unusual substance in the entire world of alchemy deserved. "It turns all metal to pure gold," he remembered, reciting the description from his textbook like it was poetic verse. "And it produces the Elixir of Life."

"Exactly."

Finally, Neville looked up. "But how didja get it? I mean, Professor Dumbledore had this stone destroyed after our first year Harry."

"That's not important. The potion you invented. The liquid Cruciatus?"

Neville shuddered. "Yeah?"

"You were able to condense the particles left from a residual Cruciatus curse into a potion that would be absorbed instantly through the skin on contact."

Neville stared at his shoes. "R-right."

Harry took a step closer, "meaning the witch or wizard doesn't have to drink it to be effected, right?"

"Right," Neville mumbled. "You know that already. You saw Ginny."

Harry swallowed hard. Yes…he'd seen Ginny.

"I don't have any more, if that's what you're asking." Neville started to turn away but Harry stopped him.

"I don't want more. I need you to make something else. Something new."

Neville stared, bemusedly between Harry and the stone in his hand. Just what did he expect him to…_bloody hell_!

"The Elixir of Life? You want _me _to concoct the Elixir of Life? Are you—"

"Not just the Elixir, Neville," Harry shouted impatiently over his friend's predictable outburst. "This needs to be more potent. More concentrated. And it needs to absorb on contact…like the liquid Cruciatus."

Neville's mouth dropped to the floor. "Harry, I don't know how to concoct something as complicated as the Elixir of Life, _let alone_ alter its properties so it doesn't require ingesting. And who wouldn't _want _to drink the Elixir of Life anyway?"

Again, Harry ignored the question, pulling something else from his cloak. "This should help." Lightly, he tossed Neville a ratty, leather-bound book, with loose pieces of parchment clearly magicked and re-magicked into place over the years. No, not years. Centuries. At first glance, it looked to Neville to be over a thousand years old. "What is this?" He turned it over in his hand and just barely made out the title etched in its binding: _Historia Regum Britanniae_. The title meant nothing to him, but it still _felt _important.

"A gift from a friend."

"Harry I—"

"Neville," Harry said, tightening his grip on the medi-wizard's shoulder. "You don't believe it now, but you have the power to do this. You always have."

But Neville shook his head, refusing to look at him. "Harry…I-I don't even know where to start."

"You start by asking for help."

Neville jumped wildly, grasping for his wand, and even Harry started a little bit as they both whirled around to face the door.

And in the entrance, there she stood: fully-recovered, ready to fight…and clutching a pile of textbooks to her side while her red-headed husband stood grinning behind her.

"Hullo Harry," she said, her voice nearly breaking.

Harry grinned. "Hullo Hermione."

She stepped into the room and eyed each of her men intently: her husband, her secret-keeper, her best friend. "All right," she said, throwing her books on the table. "Let's get to work."


	24. Trust

**Summary:** One last, crucial flashback

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters, their world or their toys.

**Author's Note:** Remember this story was conceived and the majority of it written BEFORE _Half-Blood Prince _came out.

Sacred Bonds

By Rebecca

Trust

There was simply no reason, wizardly or otherwise, why this moment should be occurring. Harry, Ron and Hermione, three years older and an age wiser, working in the Great Hall preparing for battle. The classic adage that "it felt as if no time had passed" was as axiomatic as it was cliché. And yet, so much _was _different. These weren't Harry's boyhood friends working to ensure Gryffindor won the house cup. The husband and wife team before him were parents, fighting for their new family, for their son…just as James and Lily had twenty years ago. And for the first time, that realization was neither troublesome nor prescient. It simply…was. For it was not just the famed trio at work. Beyond Ron and Hermione was Neville, putting the finishing touches on what was sure to be his most brilliant potion. And there was Seamus and Lavender, conferring with Tonks and two of her recently returned team members. All around him, the Hall was bustling, and the sight warmed a long-since hardened heart of the Chosen One. Yet at the same time, it pained him. For this moment – standing at the head of the Great Hall, surveying his friends, his family all working _with _him– this moment was getting dangerously close to confirming Merlin's deepest fears…

"_Feel the power around you Harry. There is nothing but you and magic. Trust in this place. Trust yourself. _Only _yourself."_

_Harry squeezed his eyes even more tightly as if that would help him accomplish what it was old man wanted him to do. Unleashing unlimited magic in the middle of the Sentinel spell had been instinct –pure concentrated power born of need and desperation. But Harry couldn't expect to face Voldemort and simply _hope_ he'd get desperate and emotional enough to do it again. No…it was time to learn to do it willingly. _

_But try as he might, he could not simply _will _the pitiful little pile of kindling in front of him to burn._

Incendio_, he thought. If only he had his wand. If only he could grasp his phoenix-feathered 11-inch holly and whisper INNCENDIO_, _he could – _

"_If you keep thinking about the wand, it'll continue to be the only way your mind thinks it _can _do magic!" the voice behind him bellowed, the tone unmistakably indicative of a teacher who had grown tired of repeating the lesson._

_Harry whipped around and glared. "Quit _doing_ that! You shouldn't even be _able _to do that. The Sentinels – "_

"_One need not be able to read minds to know what _you're _thinking, Potter. I imagine you made the art of mind games quite easy for Tom Riddle."_

_Harry clenched his teeth but did not react, for by now he knew it was all part of this ongoing test. _Everything_ was a test. For months now, Merlin had been challenging him, training him, taunting him. He'd learned to outrun and outmaneuver some of Merlin's best conjuring and had even somewhat mastered basic telekinesis again…with considerable and exhausting effort. But he would have to be able to do more than _move _things if he was going up against Voldemort, and his progress was…inconsistent at best. It was, after all, quite difficult to put into practice what he only marginally understood in principle. _

_Harry had learned to somewhat control anger and pain but not harness them. He could shut out the extraneous details of his physical surroundings, but not his emotional distractions. Try as he might, he was only partially successful at attempting the very simplest of charms without his wand. In fact, the only consistency in his training seemed to be Merlin's uncanny ability to make him feel as small and inconsequential as Hufflepuff's Quidditch team. He sighed and shook his head. "This is pointless," he muttered, "It's never going to burn."_

"_You seemed to have quite a pretty…_greenish _looking fire brewing last evening," Merlin said shrewdly. _

_Harry's eyes narrowed. The old man's meaning was clear. "I started _that_ one by hand…like a muggle would. And don't bother telling me it was foolish."_

_Merlin shrugged, "Why would I waste my breath? You've never listened to me before on that point."_

_Harry struck the ground with his fist. "And why should I? Lupin is my Secret Keeper. You know, the Fidelius charm? _You_ should appreciate that. It's based in ancient magic."_

_Merlin shook his head, "It doesn't change the fact that maintaining contact with anyone in that world only prevents you from forgetting about – "_

"_Yeah, well maybe once in a while it's _good _to remember those things. Maybe I _shouldn't _be trying to forget who I am, where I'm from!" He turned, scowling, while the sun dipped further into the horizon behind him. He heard, rather than saw Merlin's frown._

"_We've been over this many times before. You _must _let go of the past – _all of it_, if you are ever to truly embrace your destiny."_

"_Why?" he cried, spinning around on his heels. "How will _that _help me _embrace_ my destiny? I'm _embracing_ it, all right? You've shown me the scarring Voldemort left on this world. I've seen all the bruises made by killing curses and protection charms – I've seen the effects it has on Camelot. I get it, ok? I understand _WAR_. It's something _I'm _not fighting while others do it for me and for what? To spend night and day meditating my bloody brains out while Voldemort keeps killing people?"_

_Merlin waited patiently through his tirade which only angered Harry more. He didn't want this man's patience. And he certainly wasn't in the mood for him to be sympathetic or understanding either. He'd actually give anything right now to see that same crazy side of Merlin he'd seen in those first few weeks. He remembered one day in particular when he had taken Harry to Hogwarts – the Camelot side of Hogwarts of course – and Harry had been stunned to see the castle lit up from base to tower like hundreds of firecrackers, sputtering and shimmering with the now recognizable glow of ancient magic rifts. _

"Quite a difficult business managing these rifts, Harry," _he had said rather nonchalantly, _"Never quite know which portals you'll just slip right through if you're not careful. Fancy a go?" _And with that, Merlin had snapped his fingers and Harry had found himself at the top of the tallest tower of Hogwarts with Merlin no longer in sight. _

_It had taken the better part of three hours for Harry to navigate the school in this new and practically foreign set of obstacles. Harry didn't quite understand what Merlin had meant by 'slipping right through the rifts'. In fact, according to Merlin, he hadn't been able to retrieve Harry _at _Hogwarts because he claimed it was too well protected. Perhaps, Harry wondered, as he made his way down the divination tower (which – Harry thought amusedly – was completely devoid of any real evidence of ancient magic), it was more a risk to Camelot and Merlin rather than to his classmates and comrades at school. But whatever the reason, Harry wasn't about to take any unnecessary chances and risk accidentally reemerging through a rift at Hogwarts before he was ready. And by the time he'd reached the entrance courtyard, he had learned a good deal about them. Those that were thin and black and green seemed to have been made by the Dark Army during the Day of Shadows. They were fading already, nearly closed up. The enormous red, purple and gold rift that claimed the entirety of the great hall (and several feet beyond its walls) had been made by Harry himself, right when he had dispersed the shadow. It too seemed to be receding even in the short time Harry navigated the castle. Then there were the rifts of silver, blue and white. Harry guessed these had been the ones Merlin spoke of. These were different, permanent, and – as Harry investigated more closely – seemed to be located at places in the castle which had always generated a considerable degree of mystery. There was, for example, a white, sparkling rift at the foot of the girls' dormitories in every house common room. There were blue rifts pulsating throughout the entire tower of moving staircases. And long, stringy silvery rifts danced among the walls where hung in _his _world, Harry remembered, a number of highly animated – and very old – talking portraits. Harry had felt more and more like Hermione Granger with every passing moment, discovering with quiet fascination more and more secrets about Hogwarts – evidence that its walls and enchantments had indeed been forged by some truly powerful and ancient witches and wizards. _

_But that…had been months ago._

_Now as Merlin faced off against the boy – whose fascination with the secrets of Camelot had given way once more to impatience in these rather strained and laborious weeks that lacked any real progress in his training – Merlin simply crossed his arms and sighed. "What is it you want, Harry? Voldemort?" he paused and then shot him a piercing look, "or Ginny?" _

_Harry flinched but remained rigid, not trusting himself to speak. _

"_Ginny. Ron. Hermione." Merlin spoke slowly and Harry turned away, each name cutting into him like a knife. "It always comes back to them doesn't it? Somewhere, deep down…you still long for it." Merlin glided past him. "Your bonds to that world are so strong that you cannot hope to do what is necessary, what you're destined to do." He turned and faced his pupil; all hints of mockery or contempt vanished. "I imagine you see yourself older…grown-up, standing atop a train station platform…welcoming your children back from school." Harry continued to cringe as Merlin went on. "You see a summer afternoon spent at the Quidditch World Cup, your wife and red-headed children in the stands, your best friends in the row behind you. Deep down – though you know it to be impossible – you long so much for this fantasy that you _can't _see anything else." _

_Finally, Harry looked up, desperately trying to shut out the painfully beautiful images Merlin had suggested. He was right, of course. Harry couldn't let it go…couldn't let _her _go. But he still didn't understand what it had to do with – _

"_Camelot is not just a rung on the ladder, Harry, nor is it simply a means to an end. You cannot just learn a few tricks here and then be on your way. You must fully accept your new destiny if you're ever to fully and completely harness ancient magic. Only then will you ever be able to do so without having a heightened emotional episode."_

_But Harry had heard this argument enough. "Emotions are what separate us from them! Our ability to feel, to love – "_

"_Hinders your ability to do what needs to be done! Think, Harry. Have you or anyone you call friend ever _used_ the Killing Curse?"_

_Harry was about to answer and then hesitated, pausing to think. _Someone must have…hadn't Mr. Weasley once…or Lupin surely in self defense…_but he suddenly couldn't think of a single good witch or wizard he'd ever known to use it._

"_I thought not," Merlin said, and it took Harry a few moments to recover, for he wasn't sure he was ready to stomach what the old man had just implied. _

"_What are you saying?" he asked, carefully. "We all have to become a bunch of cold-blooded killers in order to beat them?"_

_Merlin chuckled, but his gaze was serious. "What do you mean '_we_'?"_

_Harry gulped, looking around as if needing to empirically remind himself that he was indeed…alone. He felt as if he'd been hit in the gut by a bludger and it was some time before he realized that he was sitting down. He didn't know when exactly he had sunk to the ground, but there he was…as vulnerable as an 11-year old boy who once lived in a cupboard. Merlin was right…as usual. He'd been clinging to that fantasy for so long, he hadn't even realized how much a part of him it had become. A life with someone he loved. A family like he'd never had. It had driven him all the way to this point. And here was where it must end. An image came into his mind as it did so often and without warning…a tiny golden snitch at the end of a silver chain. _

"_Harry," he heard Merlin whisper urgently. He was close, crouched right next to him, but Harry didn't dare look up. "Harry, I knew a boy once. A boy who loved a girl…In the end, she destroyed him…as this will destroy you."_

_The painful and regretful tone in the old man's voice startled him, and for this reason, Harry looked up. When he did, something odd caught his eye. There it was, as plain and as visible as it had just been in his head. The miniature snitch and chain – the one he'd given to Ginny to protect for him. For them. Harry reached out to grasp the chain. But when his hand went right through it, Merlin let out a gasp which sounded a little to Harry like a mixture of surprise…and relief. _

"_What?" Harry asked, confused._

"_You can _see_ it." Merlin almost smiled, his reply uttered in that typical annoying manner which suggested such limited information was explanation enough. _

"_And?" Harry prodded._

"_You've been conjuring this image for weeks, Harry, but you haven't been able to see it."_

_Harry shook his head, "what are you talking about?"_

"_I assume this trinket has some sort of sentimental significance to the girl?"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_It hovers over your head every time you're about to make a breakthrough. Every time you get closer to this world, Harry, this chain appears and holds you back. If you can see it now, it means you must finally be aware of that particular hindrance!" Merlin was positively giddy. "Do you see the others too?"_

"_Others? No I – " but something else on his right flickered into view. Another image. "A text book?" he said quietly._

"_Yes! Yes," Merlin cried, "And?"_

_Harry gulped and looked to his left, "A chess board."_

_More images popped up around him – a remembral, a gold watch, a flying car – all objects representing the people he held dear. All ties to his world that, according to Merlin, had been holding him back. Harry stood in awe as more followed. Dozens. Then hundreds. They seemed to take up and consume the world around him, Camelot's majestic backdrop all but disappearing underneath the beautifully cluttered display of friendship._

_Neither of them spoke; Harry was too overwhelmed by the people – _all _the people – he'd apparently touched in the world, and Merlin was simply dizzy with pleasure at Harry's progress. Finally, Harry asked, "Well? What do I do now?"_

_Merlin looked at him steadily. "Make them…go away."_

_For a moment, Harry looked stung, as if he'd just been asked to amputate an arm or a leg. He looked at the variety of colors and objects surrounding him, just as visually stunning as the purple, red and gold amorphous rifts hovering over Hogwarts and Little Whinging. He realized suddenly that these images were just as real and significant as those rifts – evidence of his magic. These weren't illusions; these were bonds. Bonds that had strengthened him. Empowered him. Sacred bonds that must now be…cut? _No. _He thought defiantly, _that CAN'T be right. _He hastened a challenging glance at his tutor._

_Merlin noticed the change in Harry's expression, but he mistook it for mere hesitation. Impatiently, he advanced on the boy. "Harry, I became keeper of these woods because I dared to trust ordinary men with ancient magic, and with it they almost destroyed the whole of Britain! Because I trusted so freely in a man who trusted _too _freely, I am condemned to live here for eternity, protecting this world from his kind and his descendents. I will not…go through that…again."_

_They were close now, almost nose-to-nose, and Harry could feel for the first time, his master's doubts, his prejudices, and his age. How long he must have been here. How long had he lived alone in this place, condemning the whole magical community for its…humanity? He didn't know the legend very well, but what he did know suddenly came to him with alarming clarity: Arthur… Guinevere … Lancelot. _A boy who loved a girl…_No wonder the man scoffed at the very idea of love. No wonder he condemned Harry's love for Ginny, Lily's love for _him. _This was a man, if history was to be believed, whom Love had failed._

_Harry stepped back from Merlin's direct, almost cruel gaze and took a deep breath. "I understand," he said at last. Merlin's expression became hopeful again but he didn't answer. "And I know what I have to do." He turned his gaze to the sky and then closed his eyes. Merlin watched gleefully as Harry masked them from his view, the symbolic objects melting away, evaporating one-by-one until all were gone…save for three._

_Merlin kept his eyes on the text book, the chess board and the golden snitch, expecting them to disintegrate like the rest. After some delay, the book disappeared. Eventually, so did the chess board. But the snitch…the snitch remained. And, if anything, it grew brighter. His eyes narrowed and he looked down at Harry who, ever so slightly, was smiling. "Potter –" he began sternly, but his pupil surprised him._

"This_ one I keep."_

"_Harry, we've been over– "_

"_It was Wart wasn't it?"_

"_What?" Merlin snapped._

"_Wart. King Arthur? The man who trusted too much? I-I remember the story. I think I knew it even before I came to Hogwarts." For once, Merlin was silent. "I said I understood and I meant it. I know what this means now," he pointed at the snitch and sighed. "It's a distraction, like all the others, and if I can't control them, I'm no good to any of them." He paused and took a step forward. "But I also know something you've forgotten, Sir." Merlin's expression was unreadable. Harry was undeterred. For the second time he reached for the snitch but this time Harry's hand firmly clasped around the now solid chain. He couldn't explain how he knew it would happen, and for once he didn't feel the need to. "A man needs someone to fight _for_," he said as he held it to his chest and then lifted it over his head. "Willing to _die _for." The chain lay around his neck for a moment before it finally dissolved but not in the way the other objects had. It almost seemed to have melted into him, becoming part of him. "And I'm ready to do that now."_

_Merlin stood, astonished. '_Some_one_ to fight for? Some_one_ to die for? _How could he possibly hope to get through to this boy if he insisted on clinging to such romantic notions? He was about to voice these very thoughts when they both heard a sound._

_It startled Merlin as much as it did Harry; they were, after all, alone in the world of Camelot. Each turned toward a clearing beyond the trees and watched as – seemingly emerging from the sun itself – a breathtakingly beautiful scarlet bird soared toward them. Merlin had almost forgotten about the majestic animal who had come to settle here after delivering Dumbledore's last requests. A pure source of magic, phoenixes had always been able to move through worlds without any effort…how Merlin had longed for that freedom, envied Fawkes for centuries as the bird watched over the headmasters of witchcraft and wizardry schools all over the world. Why it was showing itself _now_, Merlin had no idea. Harry was hardly ready to– _

_But the bird flew right past Merlin's outstretched arm and came to rest quite comfortably on his pupil's shoulder. Harry, too stunned to do much more than exclaim the bird's name as it affectionately nuzzled his hair, stood wondering at the interruption and now looked to Merlin for answers. But he had none. The bird's appearance _was _the answer. Fawkes stared at him with patient, knowing eyes, forcing Merlin to see what it was Fawkes obviously felt called to show him. _

_At once, Merlin's anger evaporated and he stepped back, forcing himself to acknowledge the enormity of what Harry had just done: amidst his lecture on distractions and hindrances, Harry – steady-minded and perfectly composed – had just conjured a solid object out of thin air without the use of wands or enchantments. The object, which represented nearly everything Merlin was against in Harry's training, nevertheless did seem to have a strengthening effect on Harry much more so than similar attachments had had on Wart. It seemed less likely than ever now that Harry would see things his way…but perhaps this was no longer necessary. Fawkes clearly thought so. He wouldn't have shown himself otherwise. It was fool-hardy, risky to allow yet another protégé to lose himself in the act of trusting too much in his friends. So much could go wrong and yet…Harry _had_ indeed made a significant breakthrough without having let them go completely. _

_After a long while, he extended his hand, a tacit yet crucial gesture that portended a change in their relationship. Harry, feeling now quite confident with Dumbledore's phoenix still perched on his shoulder, clasped it tightly. "All right Mr. Potter," said Merlin. "We'll do things your way." He started to turn away but stopped himself, unable to resist. After all, Wart had been wrong. So had Albus. "When you do go back though, I hope you remember… I tried to warn you."_

_I tried to warn you…_Merlin's voice echoed inside his head, and years of training had rid Harry of all childish instincts to ignore it. It had taken many more evenings and sessions and arguments to reach true common ground with the old man, and even as recently as when he'd sent Fawkes ahead to Azkaban several nights ago, Merlin still wore expressions of worry and doubt. It was a warning Harry needed to take seriously, a truth that must be respected in a world that had suffered too often because of misplaced trust. Merlin had every right and every reason to question Harry's plan. After all, the trigger that had shifted the balance of good and evil – Voldemort's attempt on Harry's life – was a direct result of James Potter having trusted in Peter Pettigrew. Was this any different than the catalyst for the fall of the Round Table? The betrayal of Arthur by his own most trusted knight?

Looking around him now, seeing his friends work tirelessly under his command, he understood how reckless it must all seem through Merlin's eyes. What a gamble it must seem to a man who had spent centuries in solitude. After all, just as he had predicted, the more time Harry spent with those who loved him, the harder it was becoming to remember his destiny. And Mungo's! How reckless he'd been at Mungo's! Not 24 hours into his return, the first three people he'd seen were the three whose ties to him were the strongest. Merlin had good reason to doubt, to fear. The temptations at Mungo's had been damn near impossible to resist.

But he _had _resisted, he thought with relief. And in doing so, he at last allowed himself to sever their link. In passing it to her, it had left him completely. Ginny was the sole owner of their bond now. Harry had finally let her go. _**Only you can open the door to the past…**_Dumbledore had written. That would only happen if Harry had zero delusions about the future.

"Harry! Ron! Hermione!" he heard someone cry, shaking him from his thoughts. Harry blinked and saw Seamus darting toward him, a panicked look on his face, the tip of his wand touched to his throat. "_Say again, Wood!_" he said through the amplification charm and listened. The Hall seemed to have frozen as all turned and watched, waiting for the update. Seamus drew a sharp breath. "The attack," he said hurriedly. "They've reached the first pocket of resistance. It's starting!"

Harry moved swiftly across the hall to Neville. "Is it ready?" He held his breath at this first test of trust.

Neville capped a vial of a shimmering gold liquid. Hands shaking, he handed it to Harry. "I-I think so."

Harry grasped Neville's shoulder, "Be _sure_."

Neville glanced nervously at Hermione who beamed at him with confidence. It was indeed, the most amazing potion she had ever helped concoct (and Neville hadn't actually needed that much help). He looked up and nodded. "It's ready."

Harry couldn't help but smile back, "knew you could do it, Neville." He lingered a moment more and then left him, heading over to Ron.

"Did you get through to Azkaban?" he asked.

Ron had picked an Auror staff off the table and was inserting his new wand into the firing mechanism. Locked and loaded, he turned and nodded to Harry. "Lupin says they arrived on schedule and are standing by to apparate."

"Good," he said, tucking the potion vial into his pocket. He then turned to Hermione, "You've eliminated the splinch lines?"

Hermione gulped. She had never before deconstructed such powerful and advanced magic. The Hogwarts apparation barriers were legendary and had kept bad influences out of the school for ages. She still felt a little uneasy having purposefully weakened Hogwarts' defenses hours before its toughest battle. But it was necessary…and she trusted Harry completely. She faced him and nodded.

The three of them looked between one another, Ron and Hermione with wands at the ready, Harry with a tense but composed look on his face. Sounds of the battle were already reaching them, enemies already close. Seamus and Lavender moved to opposite ends of the hall. Tonks and Neville had positioned themselves just inside the door. Their contingent was ready…waiting.

"This is it," Ron said nervously. "Last one to the Leaky Cauldron buys the butterbeer." But no one laughed.

...

"Cho, behind you!" Lee Jordan called out to her but she couldn't see anything. Sparks of all colors flew around her and it took some doing to reign in Thunder who had become quite shaken in response to her own panic.

"Easy boy!" she tugged on the reigns, deciding to take them into a dive despite the fact that it seemed the Death Eaters had the upper hand – literally. Somehow they were striking from above, which rendered their carefully strategized placement of the Shadow Guard for aerial protection useless. At first she thought it might be dementors again, but she never felt that cold, harbinger of despair in her chest that always foreshadowed the arrival of the old Azkaban guards. Plus…she could hear people casting spells.

"_AVADA KEDAVRA_!" she heard as green sparks zoomed past her. She screamed and pulled, turning Thunder back into the wind.

"_Immobilis!_" she cried, aiming her wand toward the Killing Curse's place of origin. It was a blind move, but it worked. She kicked Thunder's hind, urging him sideways as a Death Eater, stunned motionless, plunged toward the earth, a shoddy broomstick dropping after him.

"Good hit, Cho!" she heard behind her and turned just in time to see Wood knock another Death Eater from the sky. "If we can pick them off one by one, they won't be able to – "

All of a sudden, Cho couldn't hear. Wood was treading air atop Beowulf, continuing to issue commands but the whole world had become muted. "Wood?" she cried, lifting her wand hand to rub her ear while she continued to steady Thunder as best she could. "Wood I can't hear – " _Raise your wand. _Cho froze, her wand still near her cheek. _Raise your wand…NOW!_ She looked at Wood who now eyed her curiously. She saw him mouth the words, 'are you ok' but she still couldn't hear anything. 'Are you ok?' he mouthed again.

"Chang what are you doing?" Wood cried as Beowulf thrashed and jerked beneath him. Never had the old steed given him this much trouble, and then suddenly he saw why. Cho's wand was pointed straight at his heart.

Cho blinked, her face pale, her eyes glazed over, almost blank. Why was she aiming her wand at Wood? Why did she – _cast the Killing Curse!_ she heard. Cho slammed her eyes shut, trying to sort out her head. _OPEN YOUR EYES!_ Her eyes flew open. _Now…KILL HIM!_

"_Avada Kedavra!" _she shouted shakily without thinking. It was the first time she'd ever muttered those words. They felt vile on her lips and perhaps because it was as foreign to her as the voice in her head, the green sparks sputtered pitifully from her wand, flying in aimless circles before dissipating inches away from Wood's face.

"_Expelliarmus!_" he cried, trying to neutralize her wand, but out of habit, Cho deflected it. The two of them sat there, frozen on their mounts amidst the surrounding chaos. They both understood what was happening; Cho Chang was under the Imperiuscurse. And the sparks and smoke clouding up the air from the battle made it impossible to tell who was controlling her. Wood locked his eyes with Cho's whose own gaze was one of terror and sadness. He knew he should flee – dash away from her, circle around and try to disarm her again, but for some reason he couldn't. He didn't move. Cho raised her wand again. "Fight it!" he cried. He would _not _see her destroyed. Not like this. Not from within. "Fight it Chang! Resist it!"

"Oliver," she sobbed, her hand trembling, her head bursting with the pain of another voice again trying to take control. _KILL HIM YOU IMBECILE!_She aimed her wand.

"Don't do it Cho! Don't let them do this to you!" She heard it then…in his voice. Not the angered voice of a betrayed commander, but the desperate plea of a friend. He wasn't afraid for himself. He was afraid for her. He stayed for _her_, allowing her the chance to overcome the curse and break it herself. She stared into his eyes and finally saw it…what she'd been yearning for all these years…strength…compassion…and love.

_KILL HIM!_ The voice in her head had become agitated and therefore more powerful. After all, there was no actual beating the Imperiuscurse. Soon it would take over completely…but not yet. Wood would not die because of her. Not now. Not ever. She didn't trust herself to speak. The next words out of her mouth would not be hers. Instead, she simply held his gaze and smiled…and then flung herself off of Thunder and plummeted toward the ground.

...

The Great Hall seemed to have doubled in size. Everywhere Harry turned, battles were waging on. D.A. forces had been driven back to the castle and forced to retreat as a surprisingly huge contingent of Death Eaters had overtaken both bridges leading into Hogwarts. But in spite of their overwhelming numbers, small victories for the Order were being won. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Professor Sprout had joined Tonks and Neville in the east corner of the room and were battling about a half-dozen Death Eaters who had just crashed through the windows. Minerva McGonagall dodged a deadly blow from Bellatrix Lestrange who was prevented from trying it again because two of Tonks's Unregistereds had just morphed into their carnivorous forms and proceeded to maul Bellatrix's eyes out. Marcus Flint certainly didn't stand a chance against Katie Bell who deftly dealt out a bit of sweet revenge for Fred's injury a few weeks ago in the form of a giant crushing hammer that she'd transfigured out of one of the remaining tables. And Fred Weasley himself joined Seamus and Lavender at the bottom of the steps to the courtyard and coordinated a spectacular attack of exploding firecrackers leftover from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes – laced with deadly amounts of dragonshards.

With zero effort, Harry waved his hand and sent several advancing Death Eaters crashing against the wall as he moved through the hall. As he did so, he caught sight of more and more comrades joining them…old professors…dear friends.

Roger Davies, Angelina Johnson, Ernie MacMillan, Parvati Patel.

Madame Hooch, Penelope Clearwater, Sybill Trelawney.

More of Seamus of course; he seemed to be everywhere, fighting with the energy of a thousand men.

And there was Neville, whose completion of the Elixir potion seemed to have awakened _all _of his untapped potential.

And of course, Hermione.

And Ron.

He wanted to stay and fight. He wanted to help. Some of them would fall before the battle was over. He could remain and mend their wounds as he had for Ron and Ginny. He could ward off Death Eaters with the flick of his wrist now – why not delay a little while longer?

It was happening. Just as Merlin had feared. Distraction. Temptation. They were fighting. Fighting for their families. Ron and Hermione fighting for their son. Fighting to the death. Fighting because they believed. Believed in him. Harry got a hold of himself, closed his eyes and cleared his head.

_I tried to warn you…_he heard again. And despite everything he'd seen, everything he'd learned, all the time he'd been away, Harry never imagined it would be this hard to leave them again. But leave them he must. Voldemort was close. He was waiting. The world was waiting…Camelot was waiting. It was time.

"Harry!" he heard. He turned to see Hermione rushing toward him. "Is he here? Do you…do you sense him?"

Harry nodded gravely. "He's here," he said, though he was not surveying the battle, nor did he scan the open doorways or peer into the corridor.

"Where?" she cried, whipping out her wand and deflecting a curse that flew her way.

"He's waiting." Harry responded as Ron joined them. The three of them stood there at the back of the hall, watching the battle continue, but oddly detached from the bedlam that surrounded them.

"Waiting for what?"

Harry took another solemn breath. "For me."

Hermione stared at him in wonder. The last time she'd faced the Dark Army in the Great Hall with Harry was the Day of Shadows – the day he had unleashed something powerful but something he didn't understand. She remembered saying goodbye, praying that her spell would allow him to find the answers they all needed. But Ron's description of him now had been right. _That _Harry never came back. _This _Harry…well there was nothing he wasn't sure of. It seemed there was nothing he didn't know. This galled her a little bit…but mostly, she was just in awe.

"Where?" Ron repeated Hermione's question.

He turned to them but didn't say anything. For the last time, he looked at his friends…and then he smiled. "I couldn't have done this without you," he said softly. Too bewildered to reply, Hermione simply stared, her eyes brimming with tears. Her breath hitched in her throat and she felt Ron grip her hand tightly as Harry kissed her on the forehead and then turned to shake her husband's hand.

"I love you guys," Harry choked, and for the first time since he'd been back, Ron recognized his friend. Unable to let go, he tightened his grip.

"We're with you, mate," he replied.

But Harry shook his head, grabbed Ron's wrist with his other hand and forced him to let go. "No…you're not." And with a sudden _crack_, Harry disappeared.

…


	25. The Plan

**Summary:** The final battle

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters, their world or their toys.

**Author's Note:** Remember this story was conceived and the majority of it written BEFORE _Half-Blood Prince _came out. This chapter and the ones to follow are dedicated to Serengeti Dawn. HAPPY BIRTHDAY Serengeti! I miss you!

Sacred Bonds

By Rebecca

The Plan

Harry reappeared on the grounds, several hundred yards away from the castle. He moved swiftly, slipping between battle sights and fallen wizards as the war carried on around him. In the distance he could make out the vague shapes of witches and wizards on thestrals, striking in all directions at enemies swarming the sky. He squinted and looked more closely, identifying one of them as Oliver Wood.

Wood looked wild, crazed even, setting his black stallion on a collision course straight for a line of six Death Eaters on broomsticks. Harry paused, unable to tear his eyes away as Oliver stupefied all six of them with one shot of his wand and, in a rage, knocked them all from their broomsticks and sent them spiraling toward the ground. Wood then tore after another cluster of Death Eaters with inexhaustible ferocity. Harry sighed and shook his head, unable to fathom what it was that had prompted such ire and wrath in his old Quidditch captain, and lamented the fact that he had no time to find out.

_This journey will not be easy Harry because it is a quest meant for you alone…only _you _can open the door to the past." _

Dumbledore's words filled his head, and he realized now how significant that final order had been. He continued his trek beyond the aerial battlefield and further toward the forest.

_"Did you want to see Camelot? Or was Dumbledore wrong about you?"_

No, Dumbledore had _not _been wrong about him. Dumbledore knew that when the time came, Harry would be strong. He would do what needed to be done. Dumbledore knew that Harry would succeed in restoring the balance. And now…so would Merlin.

…

The battle had spilled into every corridor, hallway, classroom and courtyard of the castle. Beyond the Great Hall, witches and wizards of all houses and all ages converged on each other. The great tower of staircases had never moved and shifted in such unpredictable patterns and impassible speeds. So it was with considerable effort that Hermione aimed a collapsing hex at Narcissa Malfoy as she scurried up a staircase swinging toward her. The hex struck with an explosive blow and Draco's mother shrieked as the stone steps crumbled apart beneath her and she fell with a scream.

"Hermione!" she heard and turned to see Ron running down the steps toward her.

"Ron, where do you think Harry – "

But Ron startled her as he aimed his Auror staff seemingly right at her. She gasped as a thick red stream of wand sparks flew mere inches to her side hitting two Death Eaters who had disapparated behind her. The magnified stunning spell hit the grisly werewolf-looking brute first, ricocheted off his chest, and then struck the other shorter Death Eater in the head. Both collapsed at her feet, leaving Hermione untouched in the middle.

Ron breathed a sigh of relief. "You all right?"

She nodded, looking down at them. "The price of relaxing the apparition barriers, I suppose," she half-joked, tightening her grip on her wand.

"No other way though," he offered. "Otherwise—"

"I know," she said waving her hand impatiently. She sighed looking up at her husband. On the step above her he was even taller than usual. "Honestly, this is mad! Where do you think he went?"

"He knows what he's doing, Hermione."

"I know but…but this is just so…oh!" she huffed, reaching around him suddenly to deflect a curse. "_Kozar Damnum!_" she cried and Walden Macnair's legs buckled beneath him. Ron winced as he heard the familiar crack of breaking bones amidst Macnair's painful yelps.

"Ouch," Ron said without sympathy.

"We should be _helping _him," Hermione said, continuing her argument as if she _hadn't _just paused to cripple one of Voldemort's deadliest followers.

"We _are _helping him."

"I know but—"

Ron grasped her arms and squeezed. Knowing her as well as he did, he understood all too well how frustrated she must be. She'd spent the better part of two weeks in a coma and 8 months before that in hiding. It had never been in Hermione's nature to run from a fight, but circumstances had made it unavoidable. Even now, she still felt like she was playing catch-up.

"This is what he asked us to do. What he prepared us for," he said reassuringly. "Harry can defeat Voldemort now, I know it. But if the castle falls to his followers, it won't make any difference, right?"

Ron further descended the steps, now settling on the one below her so his eyes were level with hers. She gazed into them – full of love and strength – and nodded. Ron pulled her to him and kissed her fiercely.

"We help Harry by holding Hogwarts," he said pulling apart from her seconds later, their foreheads still touching. "We help him by surviving."

Hermione nodded again and squeezed his hand tightly. Together, they continued their descent down the stairs, their goal reaffirmed. Survival. They _would_ survive. For Harry…and for their son.

…

Harry arrived at the shores of the enchanted lake and sighed.

"_Quite a difficult business managing these rifts, Harry…never quite know which portals you'll just slip right through if you're not careful."_

He smiled to himself, remembering a time when that comment had made no sense. But he understood now. He understood everything. He closed his eyes and concentrated. _I need you now…please join me at the lake_, he thought. It was one of only a handful of signals like it he had allowed himself to send. Too much of his own thoughts traveling through theirs could alert Voldemort to their locations, further risking their safety. _But they'll take no more risks for me now,_ he thought. They had fulfilled their mission flawlessly.

With four soft cracks they appeared, disapparating on the grassy shore of the lake, surrounding him as they had in the Great Hall that fateful day. His Sentinels: George Weasley, Dean Thomas, Luna Lovegood, and Severus Snape. Each held an enchanted stone, still pulsating like glowing embers as hot and bright as when the spell was first cast. They were silent for what seemed like an age, each wordlessly communicating how…odd it felt for all of them to be rejoining their brethren.

Unsurprisingly, it was Luna who spoke first. "'Lo Harry," she said in a small, pleasant voice. "You look taller."

Harry smiled as George chuckled, his hair as long and untidy now as his brother Bill's. "Yeah mate, you're looking…fit." He clapped Harry on the back and then stepped aside. "Lupin says hello by the way. Said he'd be joining the fight at Hogwarts as soon as we were gone." Harry nodded.

Dean's expression, though friendly, was a little more etched with worry. "Harry, how's…er…well, Lavender, is she—"

Harry was about to answer but Snape, looking a little more ragged than the other three, interrupted. "Nevermind that now, Mr. Thomas. Are you ready Potter? Is he here?"

Harry glanced at Snape but did not answer him. He turned back to Dean, "She's safe. She's with Seamus." Dean, instantly satisfied by this response, relaxed. Harry turned back to Snape. "He's close. He'll be here as soon as we finish. Hurry," he glanced behind them at the early evening sun. "We don't have much time."

They closed in on him, each holding tightly to their stones. Harry noticed they had begun to draw their wands, ready to reverse their incantations, but he held his hands up in protest. "No," he commanded. "You won't need them. I'll do it." They looked at him, confused. But he merely smiled gratefully. "You have done enough."

Harry closed his eyes again and raised his arms high in the sky. Without wands, words or warning, thick iridescent bands of color shimmered from within their stones, building to unimaginable pulses of energy, and began to wrap and coil themselves around each Sentinel. They were stunned…but not afraid. The streams of magic were wild and hot and powerful…but they did not burn. They felt his energy flow back through them. One by one, they were released of their burdens as ancient magic circled around them…and back into Harry.

_Dean, the blood of a muggle. _Harry twisted and writhed in the air, floating slightly off the ground. _Luna, the mind of the phoenix. _His mind was slowly stitching itself back together. _George, the heart of a lion. _The remnants of the protective modified Fidelius charm peeled itself away as if in layers. _Snape, the magic of the serpent…_.

As each piece was reconstructed, Harry could hear Voldemort's voice. It felt strangely as if tuning back into a radio program he had left off in the middle of and was finally returning to finish. First it was faint, and then grew louder, almost deafening in his head. Harry winced as the awful burning he hadn't felt in ages returned to his scar, but he forced himself to be strong and accepted, rather than resisted, the dark and evil thoughts.

Voldemort was angry again – angry beyond expression, his fury directed at too many of his followers. He was surrounded by failure: failure to capture or hold any ground at Hogwarts; failure to locate the boy or those alleged guardians of his mind; failure to sense him after all these years.

The power built up around Harry, each bond detaching itself from the Sentinels, and suddenly… his mind was completely unmasked…and Voldemort was upon them.

The Sentinels couldn't help but draw their wands this time as they turned and beheld He Who Must Not Be Named. Voldemort was ghastly to say the least, hardly the image of the sleek, smug, almost haughtily aristocratic madman that Snape had come to know a lifetime ago. The…_thing_ before them now was pale, with sallow eyes, ashen cheeks, and a thin slit above his chin – the mere suggestion of a mouth. It was not a stretch to say that he hardly looked human; in fact, he looked rather like a skeleton with grayish, clammy skin hanging from his bones, his black cloak ragged and torn so much that it looked more to Harry like a dementor's cape rather than an arch villain's robes.

The war…had not been good to Voldemort.

One painless peak into his mind and Harry could tell that Voldemort had spent the last three years obsessed – crazed at the fact that Harry had simply vanished from his radar. And angrier still at the fact that Dumbledore's Army and the Order of the Phoenix had continued to triumph in places that should have been devastated and crippled by Harry's absence. If he couldn't invade Harry's thoughts anymore, Harry must be dead and yet…he was clearly alive: alive in the ranks of his followers; alive and strong in the hearts of his army.

Harry stared into his soulless eyes. "Hello Riddle," he said, using Voldemort's muggle name, the most insulting address imaginable to the thing before him.

"Potter," he hissed like a snake, then glanced down at the four people surrounding Harry. "Severusssss," he whispered. "What a surprise."

But Snape did not answer. He had had more than enough close calls with the Dark Lord in the past three years to last him a lifetime. It occurred to Harry somewhere in the back of his mind that his old Potions Professor looked, despite his years in solitude, as if he sorely needed a vacation. Harry intended to ensure that he'd have one.

He glanced back at the lake which now stirred behind him in violent agitation.

"_Only _you _can stop Voldemort because only _you _have been granted full access to this world and its secrets. Secrets you've only just begun to unfold."_

He looked back at Voldemort. "Are you ready to finish this?"

Voldemort raised his wand. "I have waited _twenty _years to finish this, Potter."

"_Your destiny lies beyond that of family, beyond that of love. It matters not that you are the heir of Gryffindor when you are the heir of so much more. The Heir of Magic." _

Harry pulled the small gold vial from beneath his robes. "Well then," he said steadily. "Let's begin." In a flash, he blinked out of sight and immediately reappeared a few feet away from Voldemort. Too stunned to react, Voldemort simply gaped at Harry's speed. Whatever magic the boy had just performed, it _wasn't_ apparition.

Harry raised the vial above their heads and then crushed it into Voldemort's skin with a shattering blow. Voldemort cried out, no doubt supposing the vial to contain some sort of deadly potion rather than the famed Elixir of Life. Harry rubbed the potion into the Dark Lord's arm, ensuring that it dissolved into him completely. Then he seized Voldemort around the collar of his torn robes and hoisted him into the air.

They were soaring now, high above the Hogwarts grounds, all the while grunting and struggling, an aimless entanglement of arms and wrists and jabs and punches, each one emitting its own magical burst of energy. Battles across the grounds halted as eyes were torn from opponents and forced to look toward the sky. Harry and Voldemort seemed to have melded together in a thick silver cloud, pulsing and flashing as they hovered in the air. And though it was unlike anything anyone had ever seen, no one had a doubt as to what it was.

_Come on, _Harry thought as he continued to fight, suddenly nervous that something had gone wrong. Neville had been sure it would work but couldn't, of course, actually test the Elixir. Harry was stalling up here in the thinning atmosphere. He had hoped there would be some external sign that –

Suddenly, he saw it. He allowed himself to take a hit as Voldemort's wand, sparks flying, smashed into his face, searing across his cheek. Harry registered the pain but was more concerned with what he saw as Voldmort's arm passed in front of his eyes: ever so slightly, Voldemort's ugly gray flesh was glowing. And despite the beating he was getting, Harry smiled again. It was time. "Come on, Tom!" he shouted with renewed confidence. "There's something I think you should see." Tightening his grip on Voldemort's robes, Harry took them into a steep dive and, as hundreds of Death Eaters and Order members alike gasped in horror below, the two of them plunged toward the center of the enchanted lake allowing its churning waves to swallow them whole.


	26. The Finale

Summary: The end…

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters, their world or their toys.

Author's Note: It's been a long road in getting here. Stupid _life _and all, getting in the way. Thanks for a great run! Hope you enjoy the end.

Sacred Bonds

by Rebecca

The Finale

"_Camelot is the source of all magic, existing on a plane both beyond…and beneath your world."_

Harry's eyes were closed but the glow was bright beyond his eyelids.

"What _is_ this?" he heard a voice, high pitched and slightly shaken, near his ear.

"_Forget everything you thought you knew, Harry Potter…it's time you learned who you really are!"_

He was drenched from head to toe, that much he could tell even before he forced his eyes open and sprung up from the ground. Beaten and bloody but whole, he quickly focused on the scene before him. The sun was just now setting beneath the surface. The lake itself, quiet and calm. The battles of witches and wizards around him, the Sentinels…indeed everything else was gone. His journey through his world's most legendary rift was complete, he realized. Through a portal into which a dying King Arthur had once flung a magical sword, Harry had pulled Voldemort from Hogwarts and back into Camelot. He was back. Back where he belonged.

"Where have you taken us, Potter?" Voldemort bellowed, though his voice was no longer the hoarse hissing it had been at Hogwarts. This voice sounded different…strained…afraid. "Answer me," he demanded. "Where _are _we?"

Harry grinned, eying his enemy shrewdly and answered, "Camelot…of course."

If Voldemort was shocked by this pronouncement, he didn't show it right away. In a short time, he too had regained his composure and started to slowly circle around The Boy Who Lived. "Foolish _boy_," he spat, despite the fact that Harry now stood a few inches taller than Voldemort, as sure a sign as any that obsession and rage had taken a toll on the Dark Lord's resurrected body. "Still believing in fairy tales, Harry?" Harry didn't respond, but stood rather stoic. "I suppose _Camelot_ is as good as any story to believe in for a boy still foolish enough to think his Mudbloodmother's _love_" – he sneered the word through his rotting teeth – "still protects him."

"I don't still believe that," Harry said, matter-of-factly. "It doesn't protect me."

"Aaaaah," he drawled on, "so you _have _learned something."

"It never did."

At this, Voldemort stopped in his tracks, "of _course _it did. My first and _only _mistake."

"_Only _mistake, Riddle?" Harry actually laughed. "Last I checked, the D.A. was beating your army to a pulp. I'd call that a pretty bloody awful mistake."

"Casualties of war, Potter." Voldemort waived a hand aside as if he were swatting a fly. "Victory is inevitable. My followers far outnumber yours in the grand design. What are a few thousand foot soldiers compared to my eventual victory and rule over the entire wizarding kingdom?"

"Wizard rule will never fall to you."

"_Really?_ And why is that?" Voldemort spat.

"Because you don't have the power."

It seemed as if this accusation had an even worse effect than having called him 'Riddle'. "_Don't _have the power? You clearly weren't reading your Ministry news while you were out _hiding _like an infant, Potter" he sneered. "_I _killed Dumbledore. _I'm _the most powerful wizard in the world!"

But Harry only nodded. "In _your _world maybe. Not in mine."

Voldemort blinked, unable to comprehend the transformation that had clearly taken place in his most hated foe. No one in his life had dared speak to him with such arrogance, such superiority. Not even Dumbledore – whose approach had always been one of cheekily ironic civility – had ever baited him as Harry did now. "What do you _mean _by that?"

"Look around you, Tom. What do you see?"

Out of sheer curiosity, Voldemort's wand remained at his side as he scanned the scene around him. "Hogwarts, Potter!" he said impatiently. "The grounds of Hogwarts!"

_Man has always been blind to what he does not wish to see._

"That's where you're wrong Riddle. You're in a place where you can't do harm anymore. Where you can't kill anymore. We're in Camelot." He held his arms high and reveled in the bright magics that surrounded him, rifts and pulses dancing brilliantly that Voldemort still could not see.

"What are you—"

"I'm not surprised you can't see it of course," Harry said in an almost jovial tone. "You're not really supposed to be here. You shouldn't be _able_ to _get_ here," he paused and grinned. "That was _my_ idea."

The fact that Harry was making absolutely no sense worked in his favor. Voldemort was simply too unhinged and his ego too bruised to do more than listen.

"That door," he pointed to the lake behind them, "wasn't opened to you until my good friend, Neville Longbottom, made a potion from a substance forged by Camelot's magic. Maybe you've heard of it," He added with a laugh, "the Sorcerer's Stone?"

"The Sorcerer's Stone?" he cried, sounding – actually – a little like _Ron_ now. "That was destroyed!"

"Ancient magic can't _really_ be destroyed, Riddle. You should've learned that," he touched his hand to his scar, "when you tried to kill me."

Voldemort grimaced and then seemed to remember something. "The only potion that can be made by the Sorcerer's Stone, boy, is the Elixir of Life. If your pathetic, half-witted friend actually succeeded, you are even more foolish than I anticipated. You have made me…immortal." At this apparent twist in his good fortune, Voldemort's sense of humor seemed to return to him, for he laughed rather insidiously.

"In _that_ world, maybe," Harry countered. "But you're not listening, Tom. We're not _in_ that world anymore. We're in _mine_. That potion is little more than a Common Room portrait password for you over _here_, a way to get you through the portal."

Something Harry said sounded vaguely familiar to Voldemort. After all, Tom Riddle was no fool. He had, of course, studied much of ancient magic when he was still a student. And he indeed became quite talented at controlling the darkest and deepest of arts. But then again, no amount of studying would have revealed anything substantial about Camelot. Not even Voldemort had learned every truth about magic, about power. As Hermione had remarked to Ron just a day or so ago, Camelot had been a great secret…for _centuries._

"What's the matter?" Harry taunted his enemy, spurred on by Voldemort's returned state of confusion. "You don't think you got that powerful by _accident_ do you? Didn't occur to you all this time that you were using _borrowed _power? Didn't think that one day, you would have to pay it _back_?" The Dark Lord's wand itched in his hand, almost as if _it _craved to kill as much as the Dark Lord himself. "Magic has finally caught up with you, Tom," Harry continued. "Time to pay the price!"

Voldemort seemed to detect the finality in Harry's voice, and though he could not comprehend what Harry meant, it was impossible to mistake the threatening portent behind this final statement. Voldemort raised his wand and cried, _"AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

Time in Camelot seemed to slow down to almost a dead stop. Voldemort's yellow eyes blistered with fury as his trademark green sparks exploded from his wand. Magnified by sacred ground and his own rage, the curse shot out toward Harry in a large mass, a sort of green star hurtling forward with catastrophic force. At Hogwarts, it might have seemed the most powerful and unfathomable Killing Curse the wizarding world had ever seen…but here, in Camelot, it was positively negligible compared to the magics surrounding its target.

Harry Potter had risen several meters off the ground and was suspended in the air right at the edge of the Enchanted Lake. Where before Voldemort had only seen the arrogant son of James and Lily Potter, he now gaped at the sight of a hundred or more golden spheres – each of which contained a different, seemingly random object.

On Voldemort, of course, the significance of these objects was lost. But Harry…well Harry felt a joy quite unlike he had ever before experienced as he unmasked the bonds he'd so carefully suppressed and hidden for Merlin years ago.

"_All right, Mr. Potter…we'll do things your way."_

Despite the scope and magnitude of the magic surrounding him, he could feel them each individually and distinct. In the same way he'd been able to hear muggle voices on the other side of the rifts, he could now distinguish between every unique voice of his peers, his comrades, his friends. They were fighting, each one harder than the next. _"Kozar Damnum!" _he heard Hermione's voice ringing out like a trumpeter signaling victory. _"Expecto Patronum!" _that one was Lupin. He could feel the joy it gave Remus to ward off a stray dementor, and through it, he could feel Lupin's own devotion to Sirius. _"Obliviate!" _cried Dean Thomas; Harry saw Dean closing in on few Death Eaters who had surrounded Seamus Finnigan in the astronomy tower. Dean's spell wiped the Death Eaters' memories clean, and Dean and Seamus embraced like brothers. And then there was Ron's voice: _"We help Harry by holding Hogwarts…we help him by surviving." _Each member of the Order and Dumbledore's Army fought for him, every successful spell, charm or hex a reaffirmation of their loyalty, their allegiance, their love. Harry could feel them strengthening him, fuelling the enormous collection of power before Tom Riddle's frightened eyes.

The bonds were melding together now, fusing to Harry and to each other as he harnessed Camelot's magic to forge the final, necessary blow.

"You _are the weapon, Harry."_

It was working just as he'd hoped. By embracing his bonds, not destroying them; by channeling his love, rather than his anger or pain, Harry had become a more powerful force than even Merlin had hoped he'd create.

"_Magic protected you…preserved you and implanted in you powers that would one day restore balance to both worlds."_

It was time now. Time to restore that balance. And in his last lucid thought before surrendering his body to Camelot, it was the voice of Dumbledore, not Merlin, who rang clear in his head: _If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love…it is agony to touch a person marked by something so good."_

Wart's downfall would be Harry's salvation. Magic had had over a thousand years to progress, to grow, to get it right. This time, it would be different. This time, Camelot would not fall. In a flash of white hot blinding light, Harry Potter _became _Magic, and in a spectacular explosion, Magic consumed and obliterated the Dark Lord, wiping him from the face of both worlds for good.

…

Victory swept over the whole of the wizarding kingdom. The most immediate effects, of course, were seen at Hogwarts. Here, hundreds of Voldemort's followers shriveled and collapsed in unison as blinding white light seemed to have infected them from within. Hermione and Ron, who were dueling Millicent Bulstrode and Blaise Zabini near the entrance courtyard, stopped mid-hex, their wands still raised, and watched as members of the dark army withered away before their eyes. Hermione looked down at the tip of her wand, and gasped. It was glowing, as if she had just cast a charm, but there were no sparks. Just light. Light which appeared to be directly linked to that which infected Millicent and Blaise.

Hermione held tightly to her wand, her hand steady, and she felt power unlike anything she'd ever felt before flowing through her. She closed her eyes and grasped Ron's arm. "Harry," she said in an impassioned whisper. "It's Harry, Ron. I…I can _feel_ him."

Ron stared rather incredulously for a moment and then turned to eject his wand from the Auror staff. It too was glowing and he closed his hand around it, gasping as he felt waves of power – of goodness – wash over him. "Harry," he murmured, clasping his wife's hand as tears welled in his eyes. "Way to go, mate."

Every witch and wizard who had likewise ever faced evil for Harry felt the same waves of power emanating through their wands. Even more magnificent than Fawkes's blanket of patronuses a few weeks ago, it was as if every single one of them were linked to him, protected by him. Camelot's magic overpowered and conquered the Dark Army swiftly. Death Eaters surrendered. Dementors were driven back. All throughout Hogwarts, Voldemort's followers were laying down their wands in large, almost absurdly embarrassing numbers, begging for mercy, begging to be released from the light now poisoning their tainted souls. The dark threads that had tethered members of the Dark Army to each other under the Dark Lord's reign now unraveled at fleeting speeds, spreading throughout the whole wizarding community, ending the terrible war in every town, city, and alleyway it had been fought. The greatest of all wizard wars was over, the balance restored for many a millennia to come.

…

**Epilogue**

"_I knew a boy once…a boy who loved a girl…"_

…

"Come on, Mum. Mr. Smethwyck himself said there had been no change."

"I know but…I was sure that when it ended…I mean I hoped that when it was over…she would…she would be…"

"Awake, mum. We know. But you heard the medi-wizards. We don't know how long it will take."

"Come, Molly. You have a new grandson at home, you know. Ginny would want you to spend this time with him."

"Oh yes. He simply _loves_ his toy wand, Mrs. Weasley."

"I know I just…I was so _sure_…"

"Mum, I don't think Harry would have…left…unless he was sure Ginny would be ok. Come on. Let's let her rest. He said she needed to rest."

"Oh…very well…p-pleasant dreams my dear."

The voices trickled away from her, and the room was quiet once more. _Wait,_ she thought, _don't go!_ But her eyes were heavy and still. Her body ached as if she had just played Seeker in a Quidditch match against Harry. She begged every muscle in her body to ignore the painful onset of atrophy, and finally, she was able to open her eyes…as the hospital room door closed with a quiet _click._

"H-hello?" she wheezed, her mouth dry and her voice hoarse. She swallowed and cleared her throat. "Mum?" she squeaked. "Ron?" But the other voices were halfway down the corridor now, and Ginny's was barely a whisper. She blinked a few times, and moisture flowed back into her dry eyes. She turned her head from one side to the other, straining her neck, surveying her surroundings.

It was a cheery room, full of color and certain comforts of home. On a table stood several half-opened packages of sweets, and vaguely, she recognized her mother's handiwork. Still coming to, she cleared her throat again and squinted against the glorious sunshine streaming through the thin curtains at the end of the room. "Mungo's," she muttered, instantly wishing she were elsewhere. How long had she been out? How many days? Weeks? Months since that awful day in the Forbidden Forest?

Her life came slowly back into focus and memories started flooding in. _"Ginny!" _She slammed her eyes shut, and she could see Neville, staring at her with frightened eyes, begging her not to…not to…what had she done? _"Why, Zach? Why did you turn on the D.A.!" _That's right, she'd been held hostage, trapped by Zach Smith. She'd had something in her hand. _"No," _Neville pleaded. But she knew she'd had no choice—

"Hello, Ginny."

She let out a sort of half-cough, half-scream as shock and adrenaline forced her fully awake and she sprang upright in her bed. The sight before her startled her further since she was fairly certain it had been Ron, Hermione, Professor Lupin and her mother in her room just now, and _not _the strange little man sitting on the edge of her four-poster. Her first thought was _Dumbledore! _But she dismissed it immediately. He was a short, funny-looking white-haired bloke, dressed in a shabby tweed suit, black hobo gloves and a bowler hat. Everything about him seemed completely out of place and yet…strangely familiar.

"Who are you?" she asked.

The question seemed to amuse him. "A friend," he said. "What is the last thing you remember, dear?"

Her expression became dubious. "Are you a Medi?" she asked.

"No."

"Auror?"

"No."

"Then why do you want to know?" With each question, Ginny gathered more strength and courage, her voice clearer, her eyes sharp.

"Spoken like a true soldier," the man proclaimed. "But surely you know there is no _need _for such precaution now."

She stared at him, open-mouthed, not entirely sure if she was required to respond. His answer sounded like a riddle…Ginny hated riddles.

"What is the last thing you remember?" he repeated himself, and this time, it felt like she was being tested.

"The…the forest," she replied, slowly. "The forbidden forest with Neville and—" She stopped herself. The man's expression had changed – hope giving way to disappointment, to doubt. Ginny closed her eyes and searched again. She saw Neville and Zach just as before. She remembered crushing the Liquid Cruciatus into their skins. She knew that it would drive her insane but it was the only way to save Neville, to take out Zach, to—_Let go of me…_

Her eyes flew open; the man still waited by her bedside, but his posture suggested he was about ready to leave. "Harry," she said quietly. The man sat back down. "Harry was…was here."

"Yes?" he prodded, smiling again. "And?"

Ginny huffed. It was like trying to remember a dream…a dream that couldn't possibly be real. "He…he gave me something." She looked to him for confirmation. He nodded. And then an image came to her – bright and gold and clear. Instinctively, her hand came around her neck. It wasn't there. She surveyed the room again. Surely they would not have taken it from her. Surely her mother would have known she'd want to have it close. She scanned the table of half-eaten sweets and unopened presents. She looked on both windowsills, all four bedposts. Next to her bed sat a small nightstand with a tiny drawer. Frantically, she reached over, ignoring the aches and pains in her shoulders as she twisted her torso around to open it. And there it was lying next to her wand at the back of the drawer: the tiny golden snitch at the end of a silver chain.

She drew the necklace out of the drawer and pulled it over her head. As she did, the old man before her sighed. "You have no idea the trouble that little trinket has given me," he said with a chuckle. He seemed to be enjoying a little private joke, but his voice turned rather thoughtful and nostalgic as he went one. "He knew better though."

Ginny was about to ask who 'He' was, but before she could, another image flew into her head. She closed her eyes again and focused. In her mind's eye she saw the forest once more, but this time, it was not the clearing where she and Neville had met a tragic fate. No, this was the forest's edge at the Enchanted Lake. Someone was floating above it, grinning. He was surrounded by the most beautiful array of colors. Golden spheres swirled about him and the whole world seemed to erupt in a stunning spectacle of white light. Overcome by the intensity of the vision, Ginny grasped tightly to the chain now hanging around her neck. It warmed her as her hand closed around the miniature snitch. She felt safe…and whole. "Harry," she whispered again, smiling now. She opened her eyes and beamed at her strange guest. "He did it, didn't he! He defeated Voldemort." The old man nodded, but Ginny needed no confirmation. "He pulled together all the good magic in the world and just…just…destroyed him!" she said excitedly, knowing her vision to be the truth.

"Now how…could you _possibly_ know that?" the man asked, but he was grinning as if she'd already answered the question.

"It's over," she sighed, clapping her hands together with great relief. "We won."

"Indeed."

She leaned forward suddenly, now fiddling with the chain. "So where is he? Where is Harry?"

The man did not reply.

In a flash, Ginny kicked her legs out from beneath the sweat-soaked sheet, grabbed her wand out of the still open bedside drawer, murmured a quick spell that transformed her hospital smock into robes, and planted herself in front of him as if ready to duel. "Where _is _he, old man?" she asked. "I know you know."

Her spunky display merely amused the wizard as he too rose from the bed and stood in front of her. "Would you believe me if I said…Camelot?"

Ginny scoffed, her jaw clenched, and she was tempted to transfigure the crazy man's tweed suit into a flock of sparrows…but then she stopped. _Camelot…_she thought to herself, and that odd feeling of familiarity she'd felt when she'd first seen him at the foot of the bed returned to her. She peered at him as if scrutinizing a very old painting or tapestry, and at last…a name came to her. "Merlin?" she said, startled by her own voice.

The man shook his head almost in disbelief, chuckling as he glanced again at her necklace. "I'll be damned." He spotted a chair that had so frequently been occupied by Mrs. Weasley, and drew it up to the side of the bed. "You wear a rather remarkable trinket around your neck, Miss Weasley."

She sank back to the bed, clasping it tightly.

"I imagine its origin is rather commonplace – cheap medals forged in the back room of a shop in Diagon Alley?"

"Hogsmeade."

"I see. Hung among dozens like it on a rack I suppose?"

"What are you getting at?" she asked.

"Despite its mundane beginnings, your necklace belongs to a rather exclusive class of extraordinary items now, Ginny.

Ginny started, looking between the miniature snitch in her palm and the wizard beside her.

The old man dragged his chair closer to her and removed his bowler hat. "May I?" he asked. She hesitated, but did not protest as he examined the chain carefully. "You say you remember Harry…_giving_ this to you?"

"Yes. Well – er, no…not exactly." She looked up as he pulled away, waiting for her to continue. "He gave me _this,_" she squeezed its solid form, "years ago. Before he left for…for…well, Camelot?" He nodded. Everything in her training and education screamed for her to reject the ridiculous idea of a place everyone knew to be myth, but Ginny surprised herself by her own rapid acceptance of something she just…_knew _to be true. "But when he came to me last week," she continued, "I…he erm…well…it was more of a…" she trailed off, remembering exactly what had happened now, remembering him pass her the _image _rather than the item itself, but was unable to put it into words. She sighed, giving up, and asked, "What happened to him?" The man took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair, the same way her father used to before launching into one of his lengthy explanations about strange muggle devices with funny names like _DVD Player _and _cellular phone_.

"That necklace came to symbolize something very important to Harry," the man paused, meeting her gaze. "He loved you…very much."

She swallowed hard, "I-I know."

"You were, for him, a source of enormous strength and courage. Something he always understood far better than I allowed myself to see. But you know," he said leaning forward, "not even Harry could have predicted how such a powerful bond would act in the presence of such…unprecedented magic."

"What do you mean?" Ginny gulped again, feeling with every passing moment as if she were hearing a tale she'd once heard as a child and had long forgotten.

"Harry passed this bond to you so that the _entirety _of his love for you rested solely…here." He indicated a point just above the necklace – her heart. "He thought that releasing himself from your bond would enable him to complete his destiny…and allow _you_ to fully heal."

Ginny struggled to keep up. "And that…_didn't _happen?"

The man waved his hand aside dismissively, "Oh of _course_ ithappened. But that's not the point."

"Then what—"

"My best guess," he paused again, "and I can _only _guess, Miss Weasley, is that by giving sole ownership of your bond to you, Harry actually left a part of himself behind – tethered himself to this world. In a way, I believe you were his anchor, a lifeline back to this…corporeal existence, once destiny was fulfilled." Her jaw dropped as he added, "At least that's what I surmised had happened when _I_ ended up _here._"

Ginny's heart was pounding furiously, "Is he…still…_alive_?" she whispered fiercely.

"I don't know," he answered truthfully. "But I believe so. I believe he is…the new keeper of the woods."

She sprang up once more from her bed. "How do we get there?"

"_We _don't," he said. "It is Camelot that gives us our power, Ginny, not the other way around. Harry restored the balance between good and evil. But one wizard cannot be allowed to harness all that power indefinitely. The portals are all sealed, the rifts repaired." The man rose from his chair and stretched a bit like an old cat after a long nap, and she heard a small _crack _as he straightened out his spine. "And I for one am looking forward to living out the rest of _my_ life in anonymity and…_finally_," he eyed her with sudden glee in his eyes, "be allowed to die."

Ginny ignored a faint sinking feeling in her stomach, struggling to get her recently recovered mind to comprehend what the man was telling her. "So are you saying," she now clung to the necklace, "that he's…he's stuck?"

"The woods must _always_ have a keeper," the old man moved to the door.

Ginny groaned in frustration (her sister-in-law was far better at decoding these cryptic turns of phrase). "They why are you _telling _me all of this?"

He just smiled, opened the hospital room door and glanced back over his shoulder. "As I said, Miss Weasley. That is a rather…_extraordinary _trinket you wear around your neck." And with that, he placed his hat atop his head and left the room.

THE END


End file.
